Participants:
| Scene Title | Let's Try This Again |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Magnes and Sable meet up to discuss a future in music. |
| Date | January 23, 2010 |
Outside and inside Smalls Jazz Club.
If the call from Magnes was unexpected, there was no indication. Sable, whatever her faults, recognized Magnes' voice straight away, and her enthusiasm was unmarred by any mention of months and months without contact. She doesn't ask him what he's been doing all this time, nor does she mention what /she's/ been doing, instead she informs him to meet her at Smalls Jazz Club at a quarter to five and to bring 'forty bucks and your fake ID'. And without further elaboration, she hangs up.
Maybe she needed to catch a bus right then in order to get to Smalls on time, because she is there exactly when she said she would be, a quarter to five, leaning against the brick face of the building next to the club. She looks a little grubbier than when last Magnes saw her, maybe a little more tired, but her weird yellow eyes (contacts?) are just as alert and her hands are shoved into the pockets of an oversized winter coat, downy and poofy. Her hair is in a spikey tangle and she scans the street, gaze swinging from side to side.
When Magnes arrived at the Jazz Club, it's about fifteen minutes late; he had to find the thing. He's walking down the street, staring at his iPhone, having apparently downloaded some app to help him. After finally finding the place, he slides his phone into his pocket, wearing his black denim jacket buttoned up, with blue jeans and old black sneakers. "Hey! Sable, right? And I don't need a fake ID, I'm twenty-two. So, we're gonna talk inside?"
Sable flashes Magnes a toothy grin. "Aw, but that takes the fun out of it, the suspense, you know? Will I get served, will I not? With a fake ID, there's /always/ a chance they'll find you out, no matter what age you are." The young woman eases herself up off the wall and nods, "The first show'll be starting. Cover's twenty bucks. Pricey, I know, but I wanted to check something out." She sidles up to the club's entrance, flashes her ID, which apparently is fake, though that may have no bearing on her actual age. The bouncer checks it, eyes her, then tugs out the bracelet that says they can serve her alcohol, slips it onto her wrist. She takes back the ID with the absent, thoughtless motions of someone who isn't concerned about being found out. She gestures for Magnes to follow.
Magnes' own eyes are a bit different, well, the left at least. It seems as if it has some sort of cataract, like he's gone blind in it, that much she'll notice when they finally make full eye contact. "I don't mind the price. I've been thinking about starting a band for the last two months. First I thought I'd start it with this one woman, but then I remembered you. I just… think I'll probably enjoy it more with you." He flashes a real ID, nodding to the man once he looks it over, though he gets a few stares from some people in there, for more reasons than just the eye. Luckily, he's largely shrugged off or ignored. "You still want that guitar you saw in that shop?"
"Man, there's always something I fuckin' want," Sable says. Much like his absense, if she's noticed the eye, she doesn't mention it, not yet at least. It's early, and the first band is still setting up, a big upright bass, a saxaphone, a trumpet, a wired acoustic guitar. Sable makes a b-line for the bar and hops up onto one of the stools, leaning over and patting the top of the place next to her. "What, do I look like I'm more fun?" she asks, grinning from ear to ear in what looks like a purposely attempt to appear unnerving.
"I like your personality." Magnes smiles, taking a seat and hunching over the bartop with his arms resting on it. "You really wanna do something, something other than try to save the world, put all of civilization on your shoulders. You just wanna start a band, and, I really want that, I want that passion for something normal." He sounds quite sincere as he says this, his attitude and demeanor a bit different from when she first met him. He looks as if he's been through a lot, not quite as wide-eyed, but… "I have no idea what these drinks are called."
"Shiiit," Sable says, a touch of her Atlanta accent creeping through, "I dunno if that's a compliment or what, man. I 'just' wanna start a band? What if I told you I wanted to write the soul of our goddamn age, huh? What if I wanted to stand astride the world as a rock god?" She closes one eye in piratical fashion, using the other to peer at Magnes searchingly, "You really looking to get away from delusions of fuckin' grandeur? Cuz music isn't exactly modest, y'know."
"I don't mind delusions of grandeur, I don't mind dreams, this is something you want. This is something you truly and genuinely want. You're not the kind of person who'd put this dream aside and say 'I need to do something else and sacrifice this thing I want so badly'. I like that, I like that you wanna change the world and do what you want at the same time." Magnes says all this in a manner that says he's really talking about something else, other people, people he'd rather not be like. "I believe in you and your dream, that's why I'm willing to fund the band and anything you need for it."
"What, were you friends with Jesus goddamn Christ?" Sable says, closed eye opening, giving him a direct hit with her highbeam irises, "I'm not saying I want to change the world, for the record. It's not precisely out of my, like, range of thought. But I'm just keepin' it small for now. So no worries," her grin becomes instantly sly, counterbalancing her assurances. There is a tap the mic, and Sable's attention snaps to the stage. The band is getting ready to play. There's a thin woman, very heroin chic, up front - the singer, it would seem. Her lids are heavy and she purrs into the mic. "Hey all you city people," she says, "We're here to play some music. I guess you're hear to listen. Let's do this."
Sable turns back to Magnes, a brow arches. She taps her temple, three times.
"… Something like that." Magnes raises an eyebrow at the tapping of her temple, then looks back over at the woman on the mic, curious. He doesn't speak yet, he's not sure if he's even supposed to, so… he's just waiting to see what happens.
The band starts up, in a slow jazz rhythm. Sable leans over towards Magnes, head tilting, voice dipped low and conspiritorial. "Y'know, without jazz and blues, there'd be no rock," she says, "Which means, y'know, understanding this, appreciating this, is, like, crucial to understanding rock. Which is to say, what we'll be playing. Because we'll be playing rock. This is non-ne-fuckin'-gotiable." She scratches the top of her head. "Now… I've a question for you, then. If I find, like, most jazz… like this…" she points at the stage, "Super goddamn boring, do you think that'll mean I'll never make it big?"
"You can't help what you like and dislike. There's no rules for doing anything, if you believe and work hard enough, you'll get what you want, I believe that." Magnes coninues listening, then reaches out to grab the mug of whatever the clerk gives to him. "You'll make it, Sable, I promise that much. Just keep believing in something."
Sable peers over the edge of Magnes' drink, then back up at Magnes himself. "See, I was gonna ask what you've been drinking, but you haven't even started," she says, then gives Magnes a light elbow in the side, "There aren't any goddamn garantees, nothing saying you can for sure get or have anything. But I appreciate the, y'know, moral support." The young woman folds her arms, "I listen to this as much as I can bear, just hoping I can finally see something I haven't seen before."
"There's no guarantees, but if it's something you really want, nothing says you can't be absolutely confident in it." Magnes smiles and takes a sip from the mug, scrunching a bit. "So you're suffering for your art?" he asks with a chuckle, looking back up at the stage.
"Reckless bravado? /That/, I can do," Sable says, tipping Magnes a wink, "Listen close. If you like this, you gotta tell me why. It might just be the missing, y'know, piece."