Logs:Fanboy Karaoke

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Fanboy Karaoke

Playing to the crowd

Dramatis Personae

Brand, Denali, Grace, Henry_Webb, Melissa, Mirabella, & Nyx

July 10, 2015

Just a rainy night at the Walk.


The Widow's Walk

It's Friday evening, a few hours after the 'traditional' time one eats dinner. The Widow's Walk is relatively quiet for the time being. The dinner crowd is winding down and the bar crowd hasn't yet arrived. There are a few late eaters, a few early drinkers, and a few regulars, but seating is currently 'as you will' and the wait staff is a touch limited for the moment. There's prep and side work to be done, afterall. Some low-key, 'alt rock' plays quietly over the speakers and the bartender has glasses out to polish post-cleaning before putting them back up. The skies are overcast and it's due to rain at any moment, truly. The slight chill in the air certainly doesn't speak to summer, but that's New England for you.

Pushing through the door is one particular of the Autumn sect. Denali Grey is a... well, she's known in some circles. Not many, really. In her Court, certainly. In the underground music scene of Fallcoast, by some. As an artist? That's even more limited. To Lost-eyes, the woman is still slight in stature, still covered in tattoos, still pale... But there are transluscent blue scales upon that skin and her eyes are a bioluminscent white. Against the chill, she wears a long trenchcoat. Naval, by the looks of it, and likely picked up from some thrift shop. Beneath, revealed as she lets the coat fall open once in out of the wind and chill, the woman wears a pair of battered and torn jeans and a Beatles tshirt that has been transformed into a tanktop. She schleps her way over to the bar and sinks into a seat; letting the bag fall to the floor with a light thud.

He hasn't been a cop long enough to have acquired that look that betrays John Law, no matter what he's wearing. Henry's expression is too open, curious, as he comes in - dressed in jeans and t-shirt and gray hoodie. A little tired, by the look in his eyes. He settles down at the bar, a little gingerly, as if his joints hurt.

Nyx is posted at the bar, resting her chin on the counter's edge as she stares down a martini that doesn't appear to have been touched. She faces the door and keeps her doe eyes on it through the glass. Her own attire in monochromatic gray - a v-neck t shirt hangs loosely on her willowy frame and covers the top of leggings stuffed into ankle high boots. The Elemental is pure frost with a woad twist. Dark curls are stiffly held back from her face with hoarfrost that forms naturally from her forehead back. Blue whorls of woad trail down her cheeks and arms in clear iconography, though their meanings may be lost to some.

One song fades out and Pearl Jam comes on. Better Man, from the sounds of that opening refrain. It's quiet and almost soporific. Perfect, perhaps, for the lull in business and the raindrops that begin to splatter against the glass outside. The waves upon the ocean, visible from near everywhere within the bar, are capped in white as the winds pick up. The Marinas are quiet and as a couple exits, they pull up their jackets and grab an umbrella. It's not a bad storm, but it's still more akin to Autumn than Summer. For some, this is not a bad thing. The bartender begins to make his rounds with the newcomers.. and those that have been there.

"Doing alright?" This, to Nyx, as he gestures towards both Denali and Webb that he'll be with them shortly.

The woman with the blue hair -- tied back in a loose braid -- hooks her Converse-covered feet into the rung of the barstool. As luck would have it, the doesn't-look-like-a-cop has settled nearby. With an elbow on the counter as she leans in to wait the 'tender's notice, Denali looks over. "Weather getting to you?"

"Nah, I'm jus' wakin' up," observes Webb, scrubbing at his face with his palm. ANd he does have that kind of pink and bleary look of someone who hasn't been awake long. He looks awfully healthy and cheerful to be a vampire.... His accent's nothing like local, something hardscrabble Deep South, a far cry from the Mainer twang.

Nyx would arch a brow at inquiry, if her expression didn't seem so wholly indifferent to everything including telltale signs of emotions. "I am fine, thank you. Something sweet would suffice for the palate. Brownie?" She asks with a hopeful upwards tilt of her chin. Blinking over at Denali she shrugs. "Not entirely. I actually prefer this weather. It was more the lack of company." She points a finger at the barkeep. "Polite, but not much in the ways of conversing. Now you have solved that problem." Then she realizes she wasn't being addressed to even begin with and does the equivalent of head-desking except gentler as she places her forehead against the counter.

> Webb to Here <======================================================

   Rolled 2 Successes 
   < 3 4 4 6 8 10 >

======================================> Wits + Composure [No Flags] <

The bartender squints at Nyx a moment, but finally shrugs. "We've got a brownie that comes with fudge and ice cream. That work for ya?" He reaches for a tip jar and tilts it towards him to take a look at the take so far for the evening while he waits her reply.

"That's some kind of time to be waking up," Denali muses, squinting briefly at Webb. He would see the clear blue of her eyes; pupils spiraling by a measure. To the other Lost, well. They're still that white. It makes her expression difficult to gauge. To the man, however, it's something of interest. In fact, it takes her a moment to look towards Nyx. There's confusion, but then her expression smooths as it sinks in. "Oh, yeah, yeah. Well, just imagine, uh, how many people he has to talk to everyday?" It seems difficult for the artist to change tracks, as it were, but she tries. Pearl Jam drones on in the background before shifting into some of Eddie Veder's solo work. It's just that kind of evening, apparently, for whoever is controlling the music.

Leaning to her side, Denali scoops up her bag and digs around within. She surfaces with a sketchbook and an old, battered pencil bag. They're deposited on the bartop before her and the bag dropped back to her feet.

"I usually work nights," Webb explains, offering a lazy little smile, propping his chin on his hand and gazing at Denali. A faint sharpening of his gaze, though the expression of sleepy contentment doesn't waver. He orders himself an Irish coffee and a burger, when the 'tender turns his attention that way. "I'm off tonight, but the boyfriend's busy grading papers. I'm thinking of just going home and catching up on House of Cards, or something."

Nyx leaves the pair to talk for the time being and shifts her attention back to the barkeep to complete the order. "Perfection, thank you." She peers curiously towards the speaker closer to her end of the bar. "Someone is in a mood..not that I disapprove. Any chance 'Hard Sun' may be in the music queue?" A small inflection in her tone hints at trying to stir some reaction out of the barkeep outside of tip jar staring, given her realization forehead thumping on the countertop may come across as rude. A secondary glance is given to Denali and the sketchbook, no vocal observation made though the look is there.

"Brownie it is," the 'tender offers, jotting it down and heading to hand it off to a server. To Nyx's question about the music? He shrugs. "It's one of those streaming stations. Might come up." Then, at last, he turns to the other two and nods in answer to Webb's order. Then, to Denali, who simply requests a beer.

"Damn. Glad I don't have a job like that. I just work whenever." Yes, the enviable life of an artist. You don't know when your next paycheck will come, but damn if your hours aren't your own. The woman begins flipping through the sketchbook. For those that catch a glimpse? The pencil-and-pen sketches are dark things. Shapeless figures. Skeletal forms. Buildings in disrepair. Some images more detailed than others. There's a glance over to Webb. "House of Cards? I keep hearing people talk about that. Issit any good? I think one of my neighbors just got Netflix." Denali seems to easily flow from one topic to the next, talking even as she flips to a sketch that has only recently begun; roughed out lines upon the page and little else.

"I like it," Henry says, easily. "Well written, and Kevin Spacey's a fuckin' great actor, I think." He props an elbow on the bar, lazily. "I like workin' nights," he adds, smile turning a little dreamy - less sleepy than kind of inward-turned and pleased with himself. "It's relatively busy, but.....I like feeling like I know what's going on in the wee hours. Like being privy to a secret world." Then, in a half-teasing aside to the bartender, "You got any stations that'll play Johnny Cash?"

Nyx sees that the bartender just seems to not really be interested in conversation with her at the moment and quiets down. The conversation centralizing around the pair down the way from her, the woman easily shifts into wallflower stance and her calm becomes notable as the drink is actually indulged. A nod of approval is given to the sketches she glimpses, particulary the skeletal few when they are passed.

Perhaps the bartender is one of those strong and silent types. Perhaps he's just saving himself for the people that will flood into the bar in only a matter of hours. Webb's food order is put in and the man squints a moment in thought at the question. "Maybe," he decides, in regards to the request for Cash. "I can ask in the back. Kitchen took control tonight." He has to go back there anyway for the coffee. Denali's beer is pulled from a cooler, pop topped off, and the bottle slid to the woman.

With her sketchbook lying open before her, the tattooed woman digs around in the pencil pouch. One is pulled forth and eraser tapped absently upon the edge of the page. "I //just// saw that movie, uh.. K-PAX! Yeah, I really liked him in that. I'm just not sure a show about politics is my style, yeah?" 'Nali's voice lilts at times in a musical fashion; a hint of singer beneath her somewhat exciteable surface.

Webb casts a lazy glance at the artwork, notes idly, "Good work, there." To the bartender, he mutters thanks, looks along the bar to Nyx, as if in search of her agreement on the sketches. "Never seen that one, myself. But he's often the best thing in the movie's he's in."

It's a Friday evening, after dinner, but before the true bar scene begins. The skies have begun to open up outside, leaving a steady rain to fill the night. It's chilly, as a result: more akin to Autumn than Summer. The broad windows and views show a Marina devoid of human activity and waves capped in white from the wind. A few people eat and the bar is occupied by three souls: Denali, Nyx, and Webb. The bartender reappears from the back with a mug in hand; he heralds a shift in music. From alt-rock to old, true country. With Johnny Cash's She Used to Love Me a Lot. The final touches for Webb's Irish Coffee are made and it's set before him. "Food'll be out in a minute." True to form, Nyx's brownie appears first; set upon the bartop near her elbow.

The sketch may be vague, but the elements are there. A tree - barren of leaves - dominates the foreground. Behind there's already the vague outline of a figure. It's this that Denali focuses on, setting pencil to work. The lines are uneven and rough, but placed lightly. The work is almost haphazard, but she glances up to look from one to the other. As if suddenly remembering that others are present. "Oh- ah." The woman sets the pencil aside, reaching for her beer. "K-PAX was great. I like that you're left with questions. I suggest watching it with some people. Everyone seems to come away with a different impression."

Henry's at the bar - old jeans, hoodie, t-shirt. With the Irish Coffee set down before him and Johnny Cash on the radio, he perks up from his slouch a bit, takes a sip. "I'll make a note, then," he says. And even seems to mean it. "I like movies that make you think." Melissa is not an unfamiliar face in the Widow's Walk. In truth, some weeks she works out of a booth here so often that the Widow ought to charge her rent; the latest portable employment trend in action. It's most common to see Mel enter wearing work clothes, anonymous-general-professional, but tonight is the next most likely: Casual dressed down, and in this case, carrying an umbrella and frowning with some dismay at the approaching storms. "Not good out there." And talking to herself, although Nyx draws her attention first, a moment's recognition and glance before looking around for where she would most like to end up.

Nyx is at her end of the bar, nodding a thanks to the barkeep as her brownie is brought out to her. She wastes no time in digging in she already made her musing concerning admiration for the artwork vocally. The willowy woman is garbed in monochromatic gray - a v-neck shirt and leggings, tucked into ankle height boots. As Melissa enters she waves (Frosty to lost eyes) her fingers to Melissa, beckoning her over. "A face I was hoping to see! Unless business awaits you?" She looks pointedly to the corner booth the other woman tends to operate out of.

There's no telling if it'll become a full-blown squall outside or simply stay a miserable sort of rain. It's summertime! What's the temperature doing below sixty? No surprise, truly, to long-time residents of New England. It's par for the course, afterall. It's the downside to those lovely Autumns, in which tourists flock from all over to ooh and aah at some leaves. No wonder locals bemoan the leafers.

The Bartender seems satisfied with the state of his customers at the bar and returns to prep work. Clean glasses in place, he takes out a board and starts cutting up lemons and limes, though keeps an eye upon Melissa; in case she takes a seat or he has to send a server out to a table.

The blue-haired Lostling leans an elbow upon the bartop once again as she takes a long swig from her beer. The bottle is held between two fingers at the neck, swung to and fro. There's a nod for Henry's words and she finally shifts back, offering opposite hand out towards him. Her smile is a touch lackadasical; sliding over her lips and away. "Denali. If you watch it, we'll have to compare notes if we see each other again."

A beat of....something? As if Henry'd lost himself in a moment of fugue. But he takes the offered hand, his own callused across the palm and fingers, as if he did some kind of manual labor. His handshake is gentle, but not weak. "Like the mountain, eh?" he wonders, grinning. "I'm Henry. Pleased to meetcha." He even seems to mean it, blue eyes gone narrow and squinted with the depth of his grin.

"Denali." Melissa's greeting is simple, a wave of her hand, an offhand moment that's not an interruption for her talk with Webb and occupation at that side of the bar. Mel is known enough that the bartender and most regular servers know exactly what she wants, though she reiterates it: "The biggest lemonade you have. Nonalcoholic. Pitcher if you've got it." And with this request, she's beelining - pun intended - quite directly for Nyx. "Not business. Business is for daytime. I'm here just a little while, long enough to unwind."

The pale woman finds her voice, calm and unfluctuating in tone. "So you refer to matters of passing business. Were it dire, the timing would be of no relevance." Nyx ventures, pushing her plate a little inch towards Melissa in inviation to dig in if she wants. "I have discussed matters of metaphorical and literary importance with our esteemed, misanthropic librarian. He is a riddle, that one. But, at least not a Gordian knot by any means."

Rain falls from the skies and the chilly, wind-chilled temperatures without are more indicative of Autumn. Few people are down in the Marina. At least visibly. There's more caps to the waves; driven on and on by the wind. It may be a storm or perhaps just a blustery sort of rain. More people are beginning to arrive within the Walk as dinner fades into 'bar crowd.' The radio is currently on an older country station. More real country than the pop of modern day. Soon Waylon Jennings' Rainy Day Woman begins to play. Even technology has its sense of humor.

The bartender does know the order and is already gesturing to one of the servers, who ducks into the back to grab said pitcher. She returns with it and Webb's burger. It's set before him and the man returns to his task. Lemons. Limes. They're vital.

There's a bit of a grunt from Denali. She's heard the joke before, clearly. But it's a good-natured sort of response: he didn't bring up the car at least. "Maybe I'll give this House of Cards a try. Is it super political, or what? I got politics out of my system a long time ago." She looks like she can't be more than thirty. Perhaps she was one of those teenagers who was way, way too into politics before becoming disenfranchised. The other voice stating her name draws the white gaze -- to a fellow Lost -- around to Melissa and there's a brief flash of a smile. Distractions can be lovely things, for sure. The woman takes a swig of beer, lifting it in greeting- opting not to interrupt Nyx as the quieter, frosty woman speaks. Instead, the artist turns back to her sketchbook and picks back up her pencil to etch out a few more lines. Nyx has reconnected.

"All about the politics," Webb confirms, with an air of grim prognosis. He wolfs down a few bites of his burger, air still thoughtful. "If you want something more weird, try Wayward Pines. There's only a few episodes out, but so far it feels like Twin Peaks meets the Prisoner," His gaze is drawn to the artwork, but he doesn't comment on it, still chewing.

TXT From Denali To Brand - Widow's Walk. Want a friend. C'mere.

TXT From Brand To Denali - On my way.

Melissa has just arrived, just long enough to get her customary pitcher-full of sugar-water drinks -- lemonade, usually. She's pulled up close to Nyx, and nods her agreement. "Some business can always be bumped for other things. You have? Hm. He's been busy lately, then," she observes, with an unruffled manner, though with some additional quieter comment towards Nyx that might be -- well, less sweet and more tart than Melissa generally is.

A rain-bedraggled Grace slips in through the front door, quick to push it shut behind her before too much of the elements can pursue her into the restaurant. She's in the middle of an animated conversation with.. well, apparently herself, because no one else comes in with her. "-- fine, but it's still not a crocodile. Crocodiles have legs." A short pause is enough time to leave her looking more agitated before she continues in exasperation, "For God's sake, of course amputees are still real people, that's not what I'm saying at all!" Catching sight of some familiar faces causes her to put her argument aside for the moment, hugging herself loosely as she starts to thaw out and gliding across the room towards Melissa. Though she takes a slightly longer route that brings her into Webb's periphery, offering the man an energetic wave and a cheerful smile. "Hi Henry!"

TXT From Denali To Brand - Sweeeeet.

It's raining. It's chilly. It doesn't feel anything like summer... Unless you're a native to the region. Then it's all part of the New England experience. The Marina is devoid of activity and the waves are capped in foam and darkened. The bar is just picking up for Friday night crowd; a few hours after the dinner crowd has departed. In from the rain comes a man hauling a large roadie case. Along with another, smaller fellow dragging another. Apparently, the Walk is going to have some sort of music tonight. And as the two begin to setup, it becomes clear: karaoke. Some tables are cleared from a corner and shuffled about the room. Might be a bit crowded in a spot, but patrons will deal. A few clusters of people enter soon after the equipment is almost setup and ready. A gaggle of girls. A mixed grouping of men and women that might, just might be a group date.

A handful of people are at the bar. Denali, with a beer and her sketchbook. Webb, near to her, with a burger and Grace setting herself upon him in greeting. Melissa and Nyx talk quietly nearby (also at the bar), while the former has curiously claimed an entire pitcher of lemonade for herself.

"That's a shame... Might skip it, then- Oh! I remember The Prisoner! But... What's Twin Peaks?" From disappointed to excited to confused in the space of a single breath. Denali is focusing on sketching out the tree itself; leaving the figure leaning from behind it a vague shape. The woman drops the pencil suddenly, digging into a pocket of her jeans for her phone. It's pulled free, a text sent off, and the device dropped upon the counter. "I like weird, though. I'll... well- I'll figure it out." For a moment, she's confused again, staring off at a point past Webb's shoulder. Someone greeting the man causes her attention to snap back to the present and she looks over her shoulder towards the woman greeting the cop. There's a bit of a squint at Grace for a moment, but it relaxes and the blue-haired woman turns her attention, instead, to her beer.

Doe eyes fringed with suprisingly blonde lashes, on a brunette of all things, glance towards the door as it opens. Nyx offers loud enough to be heard in passing to her, "Crocodile, no. Alligator, maybe?" Devil's advocate or what have you. There is a tilt of her head to listen to the quiet commentary from Melissa. There is a pensive pause as she reflects, her response coming back just as softly and between bites of her brownie. Her voice returns to an audible level where it concerns others. "I tried some of your lemonade, Melissa. It is improved upon with spirits - at least that is what the bartender insisted last night." Not the one currently working, but she does crinkle her nose with obvious distaste.

"Well, it starts out as a murder and kidnapping investigation in this little town in the Pacific Northwest called Twin Peaks," Henry's explaining. Then Melissa greets him, and he waves at her. "Hey there," But before he can get back to either conversation, his phone g oes off. He looks down at the screen, his brows go up, and he grins incredulously. Like he just got a message telling him he won the lottery. Flagging down the bartender, he asks for a to-go box, and hastily takes care of his bill. "I'm sorry," he says, apologetically, to Denali. "Something came up, I gotta get going. Nice to meet you."

The door to the Widow's Walk swings open and Brand Walker, human chimney and wearer of dead cow, slips through. Chimney because of a cigarette dangling from his lip, and dead cow by way of a leather jacket clad around his torso. His hair is down, framing his face, a match for his somber features and downturned eyes. Brand Walker is not all smiles tonight, and he's wet. Soggy. The dead cow is fine. Without so much as a word, he presses send on his phone and dries it off against his shirt and turns towards the stage, lifting his chin to count the faces as he approaches.

Melissa's phone gets checked and there's a flicker of amusement at the message, and it may help cover whatever her quieter talk is with Nyx. Whatever the brownie-eating girl says, Melissa nods in response to with seriousness, as if Nyx has lit upon some answer. Elaboration, however, gets interrupted when Grace makes her way over. "Hello, you. Do you know Nyx? We were talking mutual acquaintances."

Grace offers a friendly finger-waggle to Denali as well when the Spring looks her way, her roundabout momentum ending when she reaches Melissa's side - and by proxy, Nyx. Her initially broad smile for the both of them fades into a look of reproach for Nyx, a muttered, "Don't encourage her," that's accompanied by a quick and furtive shake of her head. She pauses then, leaning forward slightly to study Nyx with an apologetic bemusement. "Do I know you?" she asks, unsure. "You have a familiar sort of face."

It's DJ Two-Tone and... some kid helping him out. Maybe he has a DJ name, maybe he doesn't. It's not like a karaoke operator is a real DJ anyway. Not by the reckoning of most. But DJ Two-Tone fancies himself knowledgeable in all things Music and he nearly drops a corner of one of the cases on the kid's foot as he spots Brand. "Brandon Walker!" The announcement comes with two hands in the air. "Man, oh man! My horoscope told me great thing were coming today!" He gestures, grandly, at his setup. "Did you come to see my work? You gonna sing? I think I even have one of your songs!"

Local fanboy: check.

At the bar, Denali is already caught up in Henry's description of Twin Peaks, but then he's packing up to go and she looks lost. Like she's been led partway down a path and suddenly abandoned by her supposed guide. Lips -- red, red for the evening -- curve down into a pout, pupils dilating by a measure. She does dip her head in a nod towards Webb as the cop gets to his feet. "Sure, sure. I think I'll look for this Twin Peaks. Not that other show." The political one. But her disappointment doesn't last long. Like the lightning that flashes out over the ocean -- causing some of the girls in the group date to gasp and titter -- her mood changes in an instant when the DJ calls out the musician's name. She's turning in her chair, bottle held aloft. "Braaaand!" It's a singer's voice that lets the word escape with a lilting, lyrical bent that carries. All she can do is flash a very, very toothy smile at Grace. It's the arrival of Mr. I Wear Dead Cow that has caught her focus for the moment.

Nyx extends a chilly, frosty hand to Grace in greeting. "Nyx, succinct and lacking surname. A pleasure." Her lips part long before the words follow. "Who are we not encouraging?" Her 'hello' made, she follows with, "We have not met to my recollection, but perhaps seen one another about town? I have a habit of wandering, watching more than actively taking part in manners that garner attention." Her eyes drop to Melissa's phone when it is pulled out, more out of curiosity at the device rather than trying to discern what was on the screen. "Are those truly handy? They seem more a nuisance. A crutch for avoidance of social interaction." Then, there is Brand's entrance. She points once at her dessert of brownie, then to his cigarette followed by a very overt gesture of 'I'm watching you'.

"Fuck, you KNOW I came to see your work, man!" Brand suddenly lights up with a cheeky grin. For those of the knowing variety, Brand says this before looking up, not likely having a damned clue who's talking to him. He plucks the cigarette from his lips and points to DJ WAMPA 1 -- or whatever he's called -- with a pointed finger. Yes. Brand Walker is looking at the man with the mic. "I thought I saw something on Facebook about your gig and wanted to support you. Do you have Simple Man on tap? I'll come up there when you're ready." Whatever somber act Brand had going on disappears as he leans over to give Denali a hug and a gentle peck of his lips to her forehead. Two eyes point to his, then to Nyx. He's watching her, too. DeNiro style.

Melissa gives Brand and his fanboyed entrance only the barest glance, and momentary salute -- an acquaintance's acknowledgement, a moment out of her corner with the other two Winters around her, before stating, "Worth being acquainted with one another, at least. If my recommendation holds much water." She leaves her drink unadulterated by alcohol, despite Nyx's prior passed-along recommendation for improvement. Whatever she says next is somewhat obscured by general conversation and noise as the music-prep happens, and sounds a little funny, words hard to suss out.

Did someone mention horoscopes? Grace is still in the middle of shaking Nyx's hand - the lack of strength in her grip compensated for with exuberance - when her head snaps around so fast it's a wonder she doesn't give herself whiplash, looking first towards the DJ, then following his gaze towards Brand. Her whole expression lights up in excitement, her forgotten clasp of Nyx's hand only tightening. "Mel! Mel, look!" She elbows her fellow Magistrate with her free arm, bobbing her head towards the musician. "We have to talk him into doing an interview on Starecross!"

"WOO! Man! Yeah! Brandon Walker! We have got to get a selfie, dude!" Apparently, this has totally made the man's day. DJ Two-Tone leaves the rest of the setup to the pizza-faced teenager with him, stalking his way over towards Brand. The teenager just sighs and continues the setup. Soon enough, there's a whole karaoke setup in place, with slips of paper for signups and a binder of available music laid out. So far, no one's brave enough to be 'first.'

In a rather rare move for Denali, she not only returns Brand's hug, but it's more than just a sidearm. She embraces her fellow musician and leans, perhaps, into the kiss to her forehead. The siren is dressed in a Beatles tee that's been cut into a tanktop, some battered jeans, and a classic pair of Converse. There's an old Naval trenchcoat draped over her chosen barstool. "Lemme buy you a drink," she croons to the Fairest. "I just... I was sitting here and I just //had// to have a friend out, yeah?" There's a jittery nature to her movements. Not shaking, no, but like no single part of her can remain still. Her voice has a more lyrical quality to it than normal, but is a touch breathy. Faraway. There's a glance to the approaching DJ and she stage-whispers: "I forgot it was karaoke night."

Swooping near the table, Brand blows his smoke overhead. His cigarette hand taps against his temple, swiping downwards in a mock salute towards Melissa. "No, it's okay, it happens, Denali. Whisk me?" Brand mutters, giving her another squeeze. Like a second skin, he slithers out of his dead cow jacket, leaving him in a dry -- halfway buttoned -- black shirt. "I'd LOVE to be on the show, hang on a second, okay, let me take care of this man, here. Nyx?" Brand sets the cigarette down on the table before the ice queen and turns, side hugging his new DJ bro in preparation for a selfie. "Thanks for listening, man. Just auto-sign me up for that song and we'll do this tonight..."

Nyx punctuates Brand's returned 'glare' with a sharp bite of her brownie. Take THAT! That changes into a blank stare as an interview is mentioned and her hand drops from the welcoming shake. "If you can get to him." She waves vaguely to the 'screaming girls' syndrome that has taken place in the Walk, the DJ included in this. A shared prayer that he doesn't start squealing like them either. "Your recommendation holds water, but I am not measuring. I listen. That alone should be note of its worth." With a secondary glance given to her martini and how it has returned to room temperature, the Snowskin wraps her unnaturally long fingers along the glasses stem as frost spiderwebs up, curling for a fragmentary moment up to the rim until the gin is chilled once more.

"I'm assuming you mean Brand, Grace, and not the DJ. I'm not certain, but that might be a conflict of interest for me," Melissa says. "Or at least, something to be carefully negotiated. I work with him now and then." If so, she's certainly keeping things professional, almost intentionally so, and the admission is a little reluctant -- it's difficult to tell just why, either, because certainly Melissa has enthusiastically made some kinds of connections like this one while negotiating the rapids of interests before. She then nods to Nyx. "It does. That's all I need to know."

For a while longer Grace continues to stare at Brand, with a look on her face like she's busy running through the imagined interview in her head. She even laughs quietly a couple of times, like one of those voices in her head - probably Brand, because its those pleasantly encouraging laughs people do in interviews - has said something particularly funny. The interview must have gone well, because she's still looking really pleased when she finally glances back at Melissa. "Why's that a conflict of interest?" she wonders, brows now furrowing in bemusement. "We're interviewing him for radio, not a murder trial." "Better if you interview him," Melissa says, and then says something quieter to Grace, another one of those sneaky-Winter moments of back-channel commentary - something half swallowed in a sip of lemonade.

If 'Douche' had its own brand of selfie, this DJ would be all over it. Two-Tone is not wearing one cap, no. He has two on. One sideways, the other... not quite all the way turned backwards. It's at an angle. The upper cap is for the Patriots. Of course. The sign he flashes the camera of his cellphone when pulling Brand in, away from the bar... might be a gangsign. Somewhere. Who knows. He basically just throws some fingers out, makes a face, then starts heading back to his stand. He waves the teenager out of the way who just rolls his eyes and leans back against a window being heavily splattered with rain.

"Whiskey," Denali is saying to the bartender who... overheard and is already on top of it. As business picks up, he's moving around more. Checking in less. Just getting his job done.

Reaching out before he can depart, 'Nali attempts to nab Brand's jacket from him and drape it over his chair. The chill and damp of it little affects her; not for the faint chill in the air around the Autumn herself, oh no. There's a glance towards the other three women at the bar as she overhears snippets of their conversation. There is an arch of brow, perhaps, but she doesn't chime in, oh no. Instead, she leeeeans to grab up her bag and stuff her sketchbook and pencils back inside. Her friend will, of course, get her full attention up on stage.

"Alright, folks! I have a TREAT for you tonight," Two-Tone calls out. Some pay attention. Others focus on their groups. It's karaoke - it's not always a winner. "Brand Walker, front man of Fallcoast's finest Tooth and Nail, is here to sing Simple Man for us!" And then the mic is handed off, the DJ practically giddy. But not screaming, at least.

"I do love conflicts." Nyx professes with as much enthusiasm as one addressing the daily chores...in entire deadpan. "Especially those of interest. Where are the interests? Emotional, not financial. I am not an accountant." Again, all deadpan. Her brownie is devoured with two final bites and then the martini is reached for. The cough that follows is a rasp of breath, but her expression looks unphased and undisturbed like their is a disconnect somewhere in that physical/emotional reaction.

"Oh," is Grace's response to whatever Melissa says, bobbing her head and finally remembering to let go of Nyx's hand. She gives the woman a couple of pats on the elbow before letting her hand drop again. She's still got an ear on her fellow Winters, paying more attention than it might look at a casual glance, but her eyes find their way back towards the stage after the DJ's introduction. The collar of her jacket briefly bulges, before a small, furry face emerges. An agouti rat takes an inscrutable look around, then extracts itself the rest of the way free from her clothing, finding a perch on her shoulder.

Brand Walker doesn't make gangsings, but he smiles prettily for the camera. Composed of pearly white teeth, pearly white skin, and coal-warmed red eyes that few can see, he offers the cell phone camera a pose that he was told once was on his 'good side'. The flash leaves little spots in his vision, which he quickly rubs away. The feeling of eyes, so many eyes, on him has him noticing Grace. The widening smile, he's sure, it's just for her as it is momentary. "Hang on, hang on, I need to get a shot in me first. No one does sober-oke."

Brand steps up onto the stage and writes something down in the karaoke booth that suspiciously reads like Denali's name. With a held finger, he holds off the DoucheTeam long enough for a shot to be delivered to him on a tray. Shot up? Whiskey down. The fumes are sniffed down and -- only then -- does he motion for the music to start. It's a somber song, one at the tail end of his album, but a somber one at that...

(ooc: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgFQ6WmxdMs)

> Brand to Here <=====================================================

   Rolled 2 Successes 
   < 1 3 3 4 5 5 5 6 6 7 10 10 >

=============================> Presence + Expression + 4 [No Flags] <

Melissa gives Nyx a spare nod for some question, and then checks the time. "Brand's song. And maybe a goodnight -- and then I really ought to go." It's as if karaoke is her kryptonite, as silly as that might be, however likely that having a professional on the stage will certainly get the inspiration flowing.

> Brand to Here <=====================================================

   Rolled 2 Successes 
   < 2 2 5 7 8 10 >

======================================> Wits + Composure [No Flags] <

The bar is picking up business. It's night and it's time for that kind of crowd. Never mind that outside, it's raining and there's a storm in the distance, over the ocean. The cold air is more akin to autumn than summer, but one has to expect such in Maine. There's a few groups of humans -- group dates, gaggls of girls, and the like -- as well as a collection of Lost at the bar proper. Almost as if there was a dividing line.

The DJ crew wait. Of course they do. They'll be the HIGHLIGHT of the karaoke community. They got Brand Walker on stage! Except it's not a stage. It's just a cleared corner of the bar. The speakers aren't great, but Tooth and Nail has played with worse. Recently, even. It's the price one pays for being an up-and-coming rather than already there band. Still, it's karaoke and it's not on the equipment. It's on the singer. No one's drunk enough yet for the bad, so it's actually a good start. In fact, during Brand's song, a few people do make their way up to add their names to the list. Or at least flip through the book to get some ideas.

There's a twist from Denali, in her seat, to order another beer as she finishes her first. It's handed over and she twists and turns to look towards the Winters. There's a register of surprise at the appearance of the rat, but there's soon a grin. The woman is about to speak up, but the song ends and Two-Tone is taking up his mic. "Oh man, that was great! Maybe we'll get him up again, but for now we have..." He squints at the paper. "Denali!"

The woman, named, turns sharply and narrows her eyes at Brand. Yet, instead of refute or pretend she didn't hear, the woman takes a long swig of her beer and sets it down before she starts for the stand at something of her own personal swagger. It's a swing of the hips that work well enough in jeans, but would be better in a skirt. She leans in, speaks quietly to the DJ, who nods and begins prepping her set. She just arches a brow at Brand before offering, wry: "You're an ass."

Nyx finds her attention grabbed by the rat in Grace's jacket, not the superb performance taking place on stage. She leans forward on her bar stool to try and get a better glance, a half-done kind of wave given to Melissa when she moves to depart. "What is its name? If one has been given." she inquires of Grace. Long after the music has paused and the applause ceased, she remembers herself and claps. Loudly and a bit too slow.

Mirabella enters the bar at the end of Brand's song. She smirks and raises a perfect eyebrow at him, as if to say, what the fuck? But she just laughs and applauds with everyone else, before moving to the bar. "Rum and coke, please," she orders, before looking to Denali. Well, Brand's in a mood tonight, it seems. She grins at Nali and gives her an encouraging nod.

> Denali to Here <====================================================

   Rolled 4 Successes 
   < 2 5 5 6 6 7 8 8 8 9 >

=============================> Presence + Expression + 3 [No Flags] <

It's not Brand's best and he knows it. He doesn't show it, but he knows it. When the song ends, he places a hand to his heart and nods to the DJ, mouthing a simple 'Thank you' to the man before leaving the karaoke area. Denali only gets a smug lift of his shoulders in passing, a little wink to jab the nail in tighter, as she's been outed. Oops. Brand makes for plenty of oops. "That...was plenty fucking fun." Brand announces as he returns to the table. He pushes out a chair to make room for Mirabella, sharing a quiet smirk with her, before turning his eyes to Nyx and Grace. "Hope that wasn't too loud on the choru--what is that?" Blink. Grace has a ...thing?

Once Brand's performance is finished - to overly enthusiastic applause and even a loud wolf-whistle from Grace, who seems to think she's just witnessed the rock performance to end all rock performances - the Telluric leans in again to exchange some quiet words with Melissa before she goes - Nyx is close enough to overhear how disappointingly dull those quiet words are, just some Magistrate-related natter about catering companies, before Grace turns another sunny smile on her. Then an even sunnier one on Brand as well. "This is Pitseleh! Say hello, Pitseleh." The rat has started gnawing on some strands of the changeling's hair, and shows exactly zero inclination to do anything else despite the prompting. Though for those with the eyes for it, there's a shimmer of Glamour about the not-so-ordinary rodent.

"What can I get you?" When Mirabella joins the others at the bar, the bartender is fortunately free. Thankfully, most groups coming in opt for table service. The blue-haired mer that has left has left behind her trench over one chair, her bag on the floor, and Brand's leather jacket over the stool next to hers.

If anyone recognizes Denali, they don't show it in the same way. Then again, since returning the woman only performs solo acts and even then: rarely. She's just a warmup act for bigger shows in the area. Forgettable, perhaps. Her legacy is in the prickle that runs down spines, leading people to walk more carefully on their way home. Tonight, however, there's none of that. The woman takes up the mic, draws a breath, and just casts a smirk Brand's way. The song opens with a soft-hihat before the band kicks in, highlighted by the piano that heralds the singer: Denali, in this case.

"You walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht..." (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mQZmCJUSC6g)

"He has something in his teeth." Nyx points out oh so helpfully when the rat starts gnawing on Grace's hair. Catching movement at the end of the bar, the Elemental glances down to Mirabella and waves frosty fingers in polite and silent welcome. With a monotone deliverance of sentiment, she extends to Brand. "Perhaps the hiccup in voice was due to the indulgence of your cigarettes?"

Nali's song to Brand has Mirabella, for some reason, chuckling. What a bitch! She toasts Brand, and sips her drink, as soon as it arrives. "I suppose had I been here on time, you would have put my name up there, too?" she teases, leaning into the singer.

> Brand to Here <=====================================================

   Rolled 2 Successes 
   < 1 4 5 6 6 10 10 >

======================================> Wits + Composure [No Flags] <

"Probably has something to do with it, yeah." Brand smirks towards Nyx, with a few seconds to emotionally steel himself once the music begins. His eyes close, the last sight in his eyes being the strange rat-thing eating Grace's hair. A hair-space rat. His rings clatter over each other as the song begins and he lets out a breezy sigh. "...and it's fucking about me." Brand grouses, straightening in his chair with an obvious middle finger towards Denali. "Yes. I would have, and I'm going to, still. I'm going to have to answer this cruelty of hers, Bella. I can't let Denali get away with this." Arm around hip, Brand hugs Mirabella to his shoulder, burying his forehead into her side.

Grace tries to angle her head to look at the rat on her shoulder, which has the dual effect of almost sending Pitseleh flying and making the Telluric wince as her hair is sharply yanked. With some inelegant scrabbling, the hedge-rat gets its - or rather his, if anyone happens to look particularly close, because a rat's nutsack is anything but subtle - claws hooked enough to regain his poise. "Just a moment, I've got to say something," Grace tells Nyx, patting her elbow again before stepping closer to the table where Brand et al are gathered, sidling up to the musician with a shamelessly fan-girlish smile. "Hello! Your song was awesome!"

Fawning fan, Nyx is not. It still remains to be seen if she has the ability to fawn over anything for that matter. She settles instead for a knowing nod for Grace and a round of appreciative applause for Denali. "Friendly competition, naturally?" she asks of Brand and Mirabella both, the inquiry more rhetorical than literal.

The song and the reaction from Brand? Enough to inspire others to make their way to the stage and sign up. There's going to be a waitlist at this rate! The woman is good, yes. She lacks the starpower that Brand has, to be certain, but there's raw talent enough that it inspires a couple of people who are just tipsy and not yet drunk to meander their way up to sign up. The mic is handed off and DJ Two-Tone calls the next name.

White, bioluminescent eyes flicker over the cozy Mirabella and Brand. There's an arch of brow, but no comment. Springs, the expression seems to say. Still, Denali is smirking a measure as she returns to her perch at the bar. Her braid is pushed back over her shoulder and there's an appreciative smile for Nyx and her applause. Fellow Lost appreciation? Far superior to the Mortal masses, even if a few did share their own. Though it may have been mostly men, enjoying the tattooed woman on stage. To each their own.

Settling in, the woman picks up her beer, takes a swig, and leans forward to place face in hand for a moment. A slight shiver runs down her spine, followed by a deep beath. When she lifts her head again, there's a quizzical expression on her features that soon becomes hidden by the bottle.

Mirabella snuggles her fellow Fairest, murmuring to him as she watches the goings on onstage. She then laughs a little. "I don't sing," the Telluric says. "you know that, Brand." She wraps an arm around his waist and leans in.

"Never ever sing, Mira? Will you go if I go again?" The flickering red in Brand's eyes angles to watch Denali, letting the words soak in. The curl of his lip is a wave of poured porcelain over ivory teeth, a snarl at first that drifts into something more fond. His hair is gathered in one hand and brushed over the top of his head as he leans away from Mirabella and nods his approval towards Denali, like some inside joke has just taken place, there's pride there. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Grace is introducing herself. He turns and smiles broadly to her, reaching out to her upper arm for a quick, unsolicited squeeze. Brand Walker is not immune to fan-girlish smiles.

"Thank you! I could see you from up there, and was hoping you were having a good time." Brand exclaims, equally parts excited to see the girl he doesn't know. His bendy-arms unfurl from Mirabella and he opens his body towards Grace, offering to take her hand. "My name's Brand, with whom do I have the pleasure?"

By now Grace is grinning so wide she's at risk of having the top of her head fall off. She quickly grasps Brand's hand in her own weak but enthusiastic grip, leaving smears of glinting dust all over his fingers as she shakes his hand. "I'm Grace! This is Pitseleh. Say hello, Pitseleh." The rat continues to look stoically unimpressed at being in the company of someone famous. "I run a radio station with Mel. You know Mel, right?" Despite having said goodbye to the woman, Grace spends several seconds scanning the room before looking confused when she can't find the other Magistrate. "I, uh. Well. You know Mel, right?" she repeats as she looks back at Brand, the smile blooming once more. "So we run a radio station, and we would be so honored if you'd come and do an interview with us sometime!" Despite her earlier protest, it would seem Melissa is getting pulled into this one whether she likes it or not. "We-- don't be so rude!"

This sudden sharp interjection is directed over her shoulder, along with a scowl, where stands no one at all. From her other shoulder, the hedge-rat pitches his high voice in a near whisper so as to be inaudible to anyone beyond the Lost in the immediate proximity. "Wrap it up Grace, your crazy is showing."

"Melissa has left the building." Nyx points out helpfully for Grace and rather factually. Her wide and unintentionally prying gaze drifts to Denali when she has taken her seat once more. Brazenly, or just lacking an idea of what is socially acceptable or 'norm', the Snowskin approaches and interjects, "Shivering I cannot help relieve, naturally...but I can help offer manners of coping." Her eyes drop to the beer bottle. "Or, the parlor trick of chilling the already chosen method of coping or imbibing."

The next person on stage is the poor sap stuck with the follow-up act. Thankfully, he chooses something upbeat, enjoyable, that the drunk sorts can enjoy even if the man isn't a good singer. They're singing over him, anyway! DJ Two-Tone loves it all and is bouncing along to the music in... well, he can't dance, guys. Let's just leave at that. The teenager with him has snuck out to hover under the porch and smoke in the rain.

In her seat, Denali has... deflated, is perhaps the best word for it. Perhaps putting on such a performance took more out of her than it seemed. Perhaps it's somewhat else. She starts, slightly, when Nyx approaches and blinks at the Elemental a few times. The exhuberance of her earlier demeanor has slipped away into something more dark and inward-facing. "I'm not cold," she protests, words initially sharp. It's waved away with the beer; a silent apology. "Sorry, sorry. It's just not something I do much." A sip of the beer and her eyes slide towards the makeshift stage: "Anymore."

> Brand to Denali <===================================================

   Rolled 1 Success 
   < 1 3 4 7 8 >

======================================> Wits + Composure [No Flags] <

> Nyx to Here <=======================================================

   Rolled 3 Successes 
   < 2 5 5 6 7 8 9 9 >

=================> Manipulation + Subterfuge + 2 + 1 - 2 [No Flags] <

For Brand Walker, a lot of things happen in a very short period of time. One: He learns that Grace knows Melissa. Two: He learns that Grace has a radio show. Not only does he learn these two things very quickly, he learns them more than once. The third? He's glittered from wrist to fingertip as he takes Grace's little wee hand. "Yeah! Yeah I've known Melissa for years. She's great, isn't sh-" BlinkBlinkBlink. Brand spares a glance back to Mirabella, then down the line to Nyx and Denali somewhat perplexed. He's not the only one that heard the whisper, right? Fuck it. Brand turns back to Grace with a glint in his evil, red eyes. "Yes. I'd love to, Grace." He pulls out his cell phone and shows her his number. "Send me a call or a text and we'll put it together. I could bring a guitar into the studio if you needed me to."

GAME: Nyx spends 1 Glamour with reason: FW 2

"Oh. Thank you," Grace tells Nyx, and though she musters that bright smile back onto her face, it's become more forced as the Telluric grows uneasy in her confusion. She looks automatically at the screen of Brand's phone when he holds it up, but the uncertain expression on her face suggests she's not quite sure why -- fortunately Pitseleh is now more engaged, and peers out from atop her shoulder with more focus, whiskers twitching. "I, uh," Grace starts, faltering over her words now, a stark contrast to the bubbliness of mere seconds ago. "That is, we, we need to go," she directs to no one in particular, eyes not quite focused anywhere. "Thank you," she adds, because when in doubt, be polite. Then the Telluric turns and quickly glides away from the table, heading straight for the front door and pushing back out into the cold. There's a last glance back from the rat on her shoulder.

The Winter's look is quizzical, but not overtly nosy or prying. The sharp tone is water on a duck's back as Nyx continues, "You may not do it much anymore, but you are not dead." Astute observation there, Nyx. "You still have time. Do it more to alleviate the lack of said said action. A simple equation, really." Her approach to emotional anything is objectional and unassuming at best, detached and naive at the worst. Truth being, it is wholly innocent when she does try to help with nothing malignant to be seen. A delayed wave is given to Grace as she makes a beeline for the door.

Mirabella frowns softly, but nods. "Only if you promise not to laugh at me." She grins between Brand and Nali, then, then smiles to Grace, all cheer and good form as she sips her drink. She ignores the crazy from Grace quite well, actually, just briefly quirking an eyebrow at Brand before getting back to her drink. Nali gets a thoughtful look, but since the Snowskin is there, she remains seated with Brand as Grace heads out. The departing Telluric gets a smile and a nod, before Mira turns to Brand. "You're so good at being 'on' on demand," she says, thoughtfully. "I guess that's why you're the rock star and I'm the fortune teller." She grins wryly at him.

The siren isn't exactly moping at the bar, but she's certainly much less than she was before she went on stage. If she were a star, her glow would be diminished. As it is, she's simply herself. A Swimmerskin with Autumn. She's prone to moments of darkness as a matter of course. Still, in Nyx's words she finds something soothing and there's a smile for the Winter. "You know how time is," she offers in a quiet voice, almost wistful. "Much as we want, we can never really go back, can we?" Still, it comes across as nostalgic more than anything else.

Twisting steadily, the woman turns to squint towards Mirabella and Brand. To the former, she points... with the beer. "Our mutual museum friend told me I need to speak to you. Or that I should and I agreed. We should sit down sometime." A pause, a glance around and her brows furrow low over the sparsely-scaled skin of her features. "Somewhere quieter."

Brand mutters a few quiet -somethings- to Mirabella, his eyes hovering over the display of Nyx and Denali with quiet interest. Outright ignoring the yodeling gentleman on stage, Brand's lips move, occasionally disappearing beneath his snowy-white sheet of hair. After Mirabella says something to him, he nods gently and looks to her face. "Just a minute, though, okay?" Brand asks Mirabella, then rises. Slipping past her, he moves down the row to Denali, arms outstretched, in the unspoken offer of a hug. "Nyx, if you really want one, too, you can be next."

"All Winter has is time. Waiting. It must be seized when it can." Nyx muses as she raises her eyes to the ceiling thoughtfully. "Going back is a mistake. It prevents one going further, not just in a directional sense. Progress is a comparative of which we do not yet know the superlative. With undefined, exponential growth the equation. simply needs to be initiated." She draws an 'x' on the countertop with a frosty, blackened finger tip that leaves behind a fine white line of snowy dust that melts instantly. "And the missing variable is simply taking the chance." She attempts a smile, and for this Snowskin it looks entirely painful. The cracking of ice can be heard in the small instant that she flashes those pearly whites. "Nyx. If you ever need unbiased introspection." Her offer and introduction made, she concedes conversation with a polite nod and step backwards away from her logical musings and....Brand's offer of a hug. "You do not want to touch me," she warns.

> Brand to Here <=====================================================

   Rolled 3 Successes 
   < 1 3 4 9 9 10 >

======================================> Composure + Wits [No Flags] <

Mirabella smiles to Denali, looking up from where she's whispering with Brand. "Of course," she says, gesturing with the hand not close to Brand. The hand closest to the rocker is under the table, perhaps holding his, or perhaps just on her knee. Then he stands, and she nods, eyes widening briefly. "Take your time," she offers, watching Brand with a soft, fond smile. She looks to Denali, and nods again. "Yes, we will talk. Did he give you my number? If not, I can, or Brand can," she offers, with that same fond smile turned onto the fearmaid after a moment. Nyx gets a warm smile as well, although it's obviously less fond, since they don't know each other! She stands and collects her purse, waiting patiently for Brand. She leans against a pole nearby and sips her drink as she waits for him, smiling faintly at.. something.

It really doesn't get much better, in regards to the karaoke. DJ Two-Tone doesn't care. He's passing out cards, insisting he does any engagements requiring a DJ (aka karaoke stand). A few folks even buy him drinks. When the kid returns, while some girl is warbling Meredith Brook's Bitch, DJ Douche-One leans over to show off all the Instagram likes for his Brand Walker photo. "Yeah, man! Two new followers tonight! That's more than all of last week!"

"'nother whiskey for-" But then he's already there. Denali just gestures vaguely. The bartender cares not for Lost-ways or even general drama. He just does his job. And soon enough, there's a glass with two fingers of amber liquid there for Brand. "Denali," the siren returns, brows furrowed as she tries to process the Winter's advice through the haze. Largely, it becomes stored for later. For a time in which she's not, you know, drunk. "I don't, but... I'll get it from Thorian or Brand. Not a problem-"

There's a tilt of her head into the hollow of the alabaster Fairest's neck as Denali accepts the hug; loose braid of blue tucked beneath his chin. Her arms rise in return and after the initial pressure, she lifts her chin to murmur something. There's a distant look to her expression, but she can tell Bella is waiting and so, she withdraws and reaches for Brand's jacket, offering it out to him.

"You're missing out, Nyx. It's a language all of its own." Brand smiles quietly to the woaded-up woman. Enveloping Denali in his arms, his hug is unrestricted and warm, a full wrapping of his lips around hers. He mutters something quietly to the blue-haired siren, then plants a kiss to her temple. Bonking forehead to forehead, Brand doesn't have anything more to say to Denali. He takes his jacket from her and turns, but not before stopping to look to Nyx. "It was really nice of you to not destroy my cigarettes this time. I'll try to smoke less next time. Truly. I'll probably promise you this next time, too." Honest, at least, he turns on his heel and heads towards...and past...Mirabella.

> Nyx to Here <=======================================================

   Rolled 1 Success 
   < 3 4 4 5 5 5 7 7 10 >

======================================> Wits + Composure [No Flags] <

Nyx stares blankly at Brand for an uncomfortably long moment. She doesn't blink for a minute or two until she finally speaks, "You're right. You'll promise next time we meet. It is as habitual as the habit itself." A curl falls loosely to her face from behind a pointed ear, but the hoarfrost that encases the roots of her tresses lashes out at the insubordination and turns it to ice immediately. It cracks, breaking into a fine dust that makes it own tiny snowfall into her upturned palm. Other than that, she lacks any reaction to his hug. "I do not need to partake in body language in order to understand it." She offers a nod to Mirabella, acknowledging the smile from before and her impending departure.

Mirabella blinks, but looks to Nyx and Nali with a smile, waving. "See you soon," she offers. "And next time I hope to actually meet you," she adds to Nyx, whose name she missed. Then she's off, following Brand like she's caught in his wake.