2237-11-09 - Wolves Howl

You won't believe what happens when a group of pilots + party crashers descend on this Argentum Bay bar...

Date: 2237-11-09

Location: Karaoke Bar

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1555

Jump to End

It's not the resort bar. It's actually one further down the boardwalk. A little 'hole in the wall' type place that's reminiscent of college town coffee shops. There's a small bar with a handful of stools in the corner, but the rest of the place are tables, couches, and armchairs. It's meant for relaxing. There just happens to be a little 'stage' area and an automated karaoke machine.

Many of the tables already play host to pitchers of beer and there's a few special (local) cocktails available on discount. Days prior, Astraea went around the wing and asked people for favorite songs, local genres to their colony, and similar. She took all of this, players loaned to her, and made sure this little Scorpian joint had 'flavors of home' (audio-wise at least) loaded into its karaoke machine.

The organizing pilot now sits in an arm chair cozied up to a table. She's in a blue sundress, sunglasses on the table itself. She's got her hands wrapped around one of the cocktails. It's hot, boozy, and the place's mugs are nice and big clay things. Astraea is zoning out, staring off into space as she waits for people to arrive.

Well. This isn't exactly a sports bar. But! That doesn't mean that Sunny's any less happy to be here. She has a broad smile on her face as she comes in, the sun in her eyes as bright and hot as the one outside. She looks around and, well, there's just no one here that she recognizes. Yet. Oh well.

The blonde Aerilonian hums to herself gently as she finds a place to sit. Oh! There's a stool at the bar. It looks plenty good and comfortable for her, and -- oh, look! a bartender to take her order. "Oh, just -- whadyou have on tap?" Beat. "Oh, that's fine, thanks, I'm not much of a drinker myself, actually," Sunny tells the man, beaming at him. "Thank you, though." And then, she looks back to the stage. FOR THE FIRST VICTIM.

There are many things Paquette could stay clear of. Something involving singing? Not on that list at all. After sall, he tends to do a lot of singing whenever possible. Stepping inside now, he moves over in the direction of the bar, shrugging a little to himself.

Stirling turns up, dressed casually in jeans and a light cotton blouse. She takes off her sunglasses and - after a moment of letting her eyes adjust - spies Astraea across the way. She heads on over. "Hello Nova."

It takes a few beats, but Astraea finally registers that Stirling is there. She sets down her mug, nodding to the pitcher and glasses on the table. "Whisper," she says, unfolding her legs from where she'd drawn them up on the chair to sit up a bit straighter. "Glad you could make it." She leans forward to put her hands around the mug, glancing towards Paquette and -- without recognition -- Sunny. "Was hopin' someone might just jump up there to kick things off." It's always hard being first!

Oh. Oh! There's an automated karaoke machine, but no victims. Err, singers. Sunny looks through the crowd, and -- well, no one's going up to the stage. That's no fun. She looks to Astraea, and then to Paquette, and then, well -- it's not like she doesn't have ears.

The blonde flounces to the automated machine. That is, she half-walks, half-bounces in that direction enthusiastically and without the need for liquid courage. It takes her all of thirty seconds to find a song, after which she heads to the mic stand and adjusts it. Almost like she's done this before.

"Hi." There is a sharp whistle after, a moment of feedback. "Sorrrrry. Um. This is a song I learned back home." And then she gets into it.

(Listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UUkiu2pZqVU)

Micah had his reservations about this whole 'karaoke' idea. He, too, pushes the door of the small joint with a firm hand. The musician gone pilot is dressed stylishly casual with little effort. He wears a simple grey t-shirt featuring the faded name of a long defunct rock band. It was some local flavor on Caprica. Faded blue jeans adorn his bottom half, with a light blue and white 'trucker' cap covering his unruly long hair. It was the 'incognito' look, obviously. A long glance around the room spots familiar faces and draws a quiet grin. They were bastions in the dark so, with very little hesitation, Knoor steps over to that table. And? He does it all while staring down the stage and removing the dark aviators from his eyes. "She's actually rather good." His greeting comes with to the table with those bright grey eyes inspecting Sunny on that stage. "Good to see everyone. Space for one more?"

"Glad you could organize it," Stirling responds to Astraea. She glances over to the stage and sees Sunny venturing up. "Seems you have your first volunteer. That's one of the marines, isn't it?" Stirling squints a bit, trying to place the unfamiliar face. She nods to Paquette and Micah as well when they come near. "Busker. Jukebox. All the musicians turned up." She smiles.

Stopping at the bar, Paquette has a brief discussion with the bartender, unable to hold back a brief grin. He looks over in the direction of the stage, grin widening a little as he listens to the performance. There's a nod and a smile to the others as well. "Hey..." he offers. "Looks to be a good night, this."

"I'm not sure," Astraea admits to Whisper, sheepishly. She doesn't adjust the volume of her voice much; gotta be heard over the music, even if it is a quiet tune. "She is good," she agrees to Micah, glancing up to the Viper pilot. She nods her head to the pitcher of beer on the table. "Have at. An'... no one else has gone up yet." She's being uncharacteristically shy about it, herself.

It's not that she isn't a good singer. Actually, Sunny is more than listenable. But her song selection isn't something that's meant to knock one's socks off -- not like that, anyhow. It is a short, sweet little cover, after which the Marine puts the mic back in place and graciously gives the stage up to whomever wants to take the next step. Initiative? She has it.

And then, it's back to her stool. By then, the bartender has poured her out some domestic swill to sip on, which Sunny cheerily pays for. She's in a good mood. An annoyingly good mood.

"Musician? I think the authorities used to call me 'a professional at disturbing the peace'." Micah replies with a smirk, pulling out one of the vacant seats and settling down into like a professional pub crawler. There's nothing in his demeanor that suggests anything but comfort even as those cool eyes fall on the frosted pitcher. "I thank you for the compliment though, Major. But... No, thank you. I'm more of a water guy these days." That response comes with a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders, hands rising to clap quietly for Sunny and the birth of initiative.

"I think so. I know I've seen her," Stirling says, joining in the polite applause when Sunny finishes her song. She picks up a pitcher and pours herself a glass. She's about to pour one for Micah when he demurs, so instead she looks over at Paquette. "Jukebox, you want a beer...or, I'm assuming this is beer." She smiles at Micah's remark. "Everyone's a critic, I suppose."

"Well done," Paquette offers as Sunny finishes her song, before he smiles as he hears the talk of the beer. "A beer sounds quite nice now, especially since they don't seem to have any good wines here," he replies, a brief grin offered back in the direction of the bartender.

"It's not a wine bar," Astraea offers to Paquette with a roll of her eyes; good-natured, at least. "But this-" she lifts her mug, "is pretty good. Cider with some... extras." Get close enough and it smells rather boozy indeed. She looks to the empty stage and squirms a bit. "Frak me," the Raptor pilot finally mutters, downing a good bit of her cider. "Fine," she says, standing and ambling her way up. She starts fussing over the list of songs, deliberating.

Sunny declines joining the pilots. There are lines, see, and some just aren't crossed (yet). She absorbs the claps and appreciation with a dimpled smile and nod of her head, and then watches Astraea take the stage. She tucks two fingers into her mouth and whistles loudly at the next singer. "Yeah!" She claps her hands vigorously. "All right!" And then, she takes up her beer and takes a long draught.

It's not that she isn't interested in karaoke, okay, she isn't, really, still recovering as she is, or that she wasn't interested in team building, though this wasn't really about her team. Mostly, it's been about trying to convince the medical team that she was actually cleared to do something other than wander around the ship. It's just that she had something more important to do than actually, you know show up on time. And so, fashionably late is the other Walker, as Abigail makes her way into the bar, waiting to have her self and the box she's carried in inspected, before she starts honing in on the other Wolves, heading over towards the bar, once she spots a few familiar faces.

"Oh, critics are the spice of life, I think. A bitter spice. That no one should like. But hey! It makes us appreciate all the other ones, right?" Micah replies to Stirling with another shrug of his shoulders, that smile not daring to disappear. He glances up at Paquette, the illustrious fellow habitant of the 'Brass Bunkroom', and nods his greeting in that silent and casual way he had long ago mastered. "Nova. That smells like a fire hazard." Knoor says as he raises an eyebrow at her mug, shifting his gaze in time to catch her catch the 'initiative' and bound off. "And speak of the raw incarnation of musical talent now." Yes, he'd caught sight of Abigail. She earns a more appreciative look and a mischievous smile.

Stirling pours Paquette a beer... cider... whatever it is and hands the glass over to him. Then she takes an experimental sip of her own. "Not bad," she declares, then smiles when Astraea makes her way up onto the stage. "I'll take your word for that, Busker. Dealing with music critics is not my forte." The other Walker is given a friendly nod in greeting. "Hello Walker."

<FS3> Astraea rolls Singing: Success (7 5 3 3 3 2 2)

"See, we're in barbarian lands..." Paquette offers with a wide grin at the talk of this not being a wine bar. It's said rather lightly, before he takes the offered glass from Stirling, and takes a sip. "I've had far worse," he says, with a nod. Listening to the music for now.

"Beer," she calls back over her shoulder on the way to the stage. The pitcher is beer. Some local brew. Her own mug is one of the place's specialty cocktails and it is, yes, totally a very boozy cider. Astraea just shrugs for Micah's assessment before she's involved in picking out a song. It takes a moment before she queues it up and a few long seconds before she gets up to the mic. There's hesitation in her singing (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xo1VInw-SKc), which the song really doesn't call for. It does hurt the performance -- that stage fright -- some, but the Raptor stick's voice at least is a decent one.

Once Abigail makes it close enough to the small group, she returns the greetings sent in her direction, "Major. Evening." She box she shifts from under her arm to set on the bar, sidling in next to Micah long enough to do it. "Sorry I'm late. I had to practice some aggressive negotiations to try to get this many." The box, upon closer inspection, is a portable humidor, "Also, I may or may not have promised your name on a napkin, so find a napkin, Knoor." An appreciative smile, as she sees the pilot at the microphone, hands freed enough to clap once the song's come to a close.

Sunny claps enthusiastically at the end of Astraea's song. To the bartender, she says, sidelong, "She's pretty good, she's pretty good." And then, another loud whistle. "I should go say hi, shouldn't I?" The bartender nods. "Yeah, sure." And, so, the medic picks up her beer and saunters over to where Astraea eventually sits down.

"That was great!" Sunny nearly shouts in the pilot's direction, her energy and nerves projecting out from her like a warm, cloying wave of joy and pumpkin spice. "If you want to, like, maybe we could do a duet together, hmm? You can take the high parts; I'll take the low. Oh! I have a good one in mind." Beat. "If you're interested."

Not that she knows anyone else at that table. Sunny's just like that, apparently.

Stirling claps for Astraea's performance. She gestures further down the bar where Sunny is sitting. "Walker - do you know her name? I know I've seen her on Raptor flights." Then Sunny is calling to Astraea and approaching their table and Stirling straightens and smiles.

"What you describe as 'aggressive negotiations' has a mildly terrifying connotation, Abbs. Are they... whole?" Micah's response accompanies his hands raising to clap rather heartily for Astraea, his bright eyes watching her every step as she makes it off that stage. "You know? Hawk said she had a voice on her. I guess I just never had a chance to hear it until now." The blond pilot pulls out the chair next to him, taking Abigail's hand and wordlessly guiding her into it. It's only then that the humidor gets his attention... and the napkin comment finally registers. That? Well, that earns a laugh. "I think I may be able to spare a few scribbles on a napkin. Major? Do you have a spare over there by you? Maybe we can drop it off when we get out of here, hm?" He opens the box with his spare hand, drawing out a handful of cigars and tossing them onto the middle of the table. "Ladies? Jukebox? Help yourselves."

Paquette smiles again as he listens to the rest of the song, taking another long sip of his beer. Might need a little more of that stuff before singing is in order, right? Looking around he offers a nod and a smile to Sunny as she approaches the group of people, while still listening to what's said for now.

"Day." A beat, as Abigail hears the question from the Major, seeing the combat medic making her way over, "I hear she's called Sunny by most. Corporal." Even if Abigail has not had much interaction, on a personal level, with the woman, the marines have been all about rotating team members mission to mission, and it helps to also have access to mission paperwork that needs filling out. "What sort of courier do you think I am, Knoor? Of course I brought them back intact." As evidenced by the cigars that Micah reveals from the box, and tosses down as a sort of free for all.

The singing Scorpian nigh scurries back to her seat, slouching into it and grabbing for her mug. She has it halfway to her mouth for a drink when Sunny descends. Astraea's eyes widen a bit as she's put on the spot, not yet lowering or putting the mug aside. No, she has her drink for a moment of focus before setting it down finally. "Mmmmaybe? But others oughta go first, yeah?" Because she's not quite ready to go right back up there! She does, however, cast a curious eye for the cigars.

"Hello Corporal," Stirling offers when Abigail helps identify Sunny. "That was well done, Nova," she says. "Suited you." She makes no move for the cigars Micah tosses out, but does hand a napkin over. Seeing the empty stage, she says, "All right - I'll be the next victim." She takes one last sip of her beer before setting down the glass. "Any suggestions?" she calls back as she starts heading up.

"Sure, yeah, totally, absolutely," says Sunny, her head bobbing in agreement with Astraea. "Def-- eh." She looks around the table for a second, and then shrugs her shoulders. "You know what? I don't know anyone here." So, to the last singer, she holds out a hand. "Hi! Ashley Day. Corporal. Most people call me Sunny. It's what I grew up with."

Her following grin says it all. She has this empty-headed sort of positivity with her. Nice smile. Energy that could power the Vanguard's core. Kind of a little aggravating.

"Hi!" says Sunny, not missing a beat as she greets Stirling. "I'm Ashley. Oh! You're next?" Two fingers. Tucked into her lips. Loud, resulting whistle. "Go! You go! Woo!" Because she clearly has no idea how highly ranked Stirling is. She hasn't been paying that much attention.

"Is she a good singer?" asks Sunny of Astraea, of Stirling.

"No suggestions from me. I think it'd be interesting to see what you pick on your own, Major. It's like an all access pass into the mind of a legend." There's a bit of that familiar mischief in Micah's eye when he speaks his reply, reaching into the humidor again and pulling out a cigar for his careful inspection. "Sunny? Micah Knoor. It's an absolute pleasure." Cue the award winning smile from the former rockstar. Abigail's comment actually draws a laugh, stopping his hands as they begin to unwrap the first cigar he'd selected. Those tiny sticks of tobacco seemed like a life raft to the man. "Top marks, Abbs. And you know how much I appreciate it, right?"

The outthrust hand is stared at before Astraea processes what's going on. Hyper, meet withdrawn. Sunshine, meet clouds. The Raptor pilot just hasn't been the same since her capture on Sagittaron, though she's been trying of late. Real hard. She finally accepts the hand, shifting the weight of her mug to the other. "Astraea Masters. Nova." Name, call sign. At least she gave the whole thing; she's so prone to just giving a single part of her name. She does express some surprise at Stirling taking the stage and can only give Sunny a small shrug: "I don't know."

Paquette smiles as Sunny introduces herself. "So... a Sunny Day?" he asks, a bit lightly, before he adds, "I'm Mathieu Paquette, or Jukebox among these people." A brief pause as he sees Stirling head to the stage, before he smiles, sipping his beer.

Abigail, settled into the seat beside Micah, reaching over to pull another from the table behind them, since no one's using it. Well, possibly they are, but they shouldn't have gotten up and abandoned it. At any rate, she pulls it over, settling it at the table, a tip of her chin indicating that it's intended for the other Marine, "Does one have to be? A good singer that is? I mean, it's supposed to be something you do drunk so that no one notices, isn't it?" A snort, at Micah's comment, "I know how much work I'm going to make you do later, Knoor." This Walker, the one not seemingly intent on making it their life's mission to get on Stirling's tits, reaches out, grasping one of the cigars and offering it to Sunny. That done, she settles back, free hand settling lightly on Micah's thigh.

"Mm. Well! Surprises, surprises, right?" Sunny says offhand to Astraea before there's a Micah and a Paquette in her mind. She greets the former with a dimpled smile. "Hello, Micah." Then, the other. "Hello, Mathieu." Beat. "You know, it could've been worse? My mom wanted to name me 'Stormy'. Seriously, 'Stormy'." She does a hand rise-and-fall, slapping her hip. "Like that'd be a perfectly okay name to have through middle school, right?" Snort. "Stormy." And she takes a sip of her beer.

"So, you must all be pilots except for -- " Sunny eyes Abigail. " -- Walker. Right?" She squints at the other blond. "Walker's got that eye that we soldiers have. Dead eyes, you know? Pew, pew, pew." Yes, she says 'pew pew pew', right before she laughs in a giddy way. "Wow, I haven't even had that much to drink tonight. Whew! And thaaaaank you." Snags the cigar.

And then, she eyes it, like she ain't sure what to do with the thing. Funny that.

Stirling glances back to roll her eyes at Micah's 'legend' comment. She heads up on stage and chews her lip, frowning at the song descriptions. Then finally she finds one to her liking, judging by the little smirk she gives when selecting it. To answer Sunny's question - no, Stirling is not a particularly good singer. She is, however, a good sport, and pokes fun at herself with a song that is both fitting and a bit self-deprecating. It is sung partly off-key with unapologetic gusto. All the more ironic since Stirling is not normally heard swearing.

Bitch, Meredith Brooks: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ivt_N2Zcts

"Stormy's more of a call sign then a name, yeh?" Astraea seems to think so, at least. She's still considering the cigars and taking sips of her drink when Stirling hits the stage. The Raptor pilot isn't drunk, but she is tipsy. When that song begins? Well, she sputters into her drink a bit and a burst of laughter escapes her, unbidden. It's a rare thing these days and she looks rather abashed in the wake of it.

"Head trauma, Abbs. Head trauma." Micah replies with arched eyebrows, his hand settling down atop hers. "You're on profile, remember?" That's how Knoor was going to die. Statements like that to a woman like Abigail. His smile fades in time for Astraea to earn the benefit of his gaze. His look toward her is... thoughtful. "Hey. He isn't here. So you're my responsibility, right?" His words are offered in with a curl of one corner of his lips. Those bright grey eyes fall to the cigar in his hand, turning it over a bit before they rise again. Knoor pauses and then nods to the room. "Enjoy it. You earned it." His tone is quiet, serious, and entirely interrupted by their CAG singing what could be the most hilarious song choice humanity will ever see. In all honesty? Micah can't help but start laughing, only managing to stifle it long enough to put the cigar between his teeth. "I told you! Legendary!"

Sunny has a cigar. But she doesn't know how to smoke. So, she tucks it into a chest pocket, pats it twice, and says, to no one in particular, "I'm going to enjoy this elsewhere." She looks around, and then, absent-mindedly, she murmurs, "You know, before it gets too dark, I think I'm going to find something to eat. Hmm." Shouldn't be too late. Lots of places should still be open. "But I'll be back, I'll be back."

And so, Sunny drifts on off, leaving her draft beer to sweat it out on the table, alone, unattended. Someone should totally drink all of it.

Another one that's not able to hold back laughter at the CAG's choice of song would be Paquette. He shakes his head a bit lightly as he listens, draining the rest of his beer. "Interesting song choice," he remarks, before he looks a bit thoughtful. "I guess I'll go next, hmmm..."

Stirling can't help but notice the laughter from on-stage, but it just makes her grin. She finishes up the song, nearly bumbling the mic as she tries to put it back in the stand. Oops. Then she returns to the table. "My contribution to squadron morale," she concludes with deadpan seriousness.

"Got it in one." That to Sunny identifying her. And then the music begins and Stirling launches into her song. Abigail, rather than laughing, which, really makes sense as, given that she doesn't know the CAG, she doesn't really get the joke, actually seems to simply enjoy the woman's effort. It's a much more energetic song that most would select. "I don't see a doctor here. Also...I'm surprised at how gung-ho you all are at getting up on stage." as she sees Sunny start to wander off, "No medic either, now. I do what I want."

Astraea is drinking deep of her cider when Micah speaks her way. There's something in her eyes for a moment -- uncertainty, maybe? -- but she finally gives a small, clipped nod before draining the rest of the mug. It's set on the table and she has just enough time to wave Sunny off before, well.. someone has to drink it, right? Nova leans for the glass, picking it up. "Great song," she calls after Stirling with just a bit of a smirk. "I only wish I'd taken video. I bet Hurricane would've love it." Since her capture, he's one of the ones she's been spending more time with; as someone familiar with processing such trauma. There's a shrug for Abigail's comments. "We strap ourselves to glorified bombs on a regular basis. This is nothin'."

"I should have listened to the warnings, Walker. You're trouble." Micah responds, still struggling to get his laughing under control. "Profile breaking, high heel wearing trouble. But gods, do you look good in a neck brace." Speculation, of course. She wasn't in one. Yet. As Stirling makes her way back down to the group, the blond pilot seems to have gotten his entirely sober laughter under control. He offers her another approaching golf clap, though, chuckling at her deadpan delivery. "Another contribution to the myth that is 'Major Stirling'. And may I say? Brilliant song choice, sir." There's a clear undercut of humor in his tone. And as Sunny moves away, he glances over at Astraea, examining her a quick moment before turning back to the Major, apparently satisfied. "We need to see a repeat performance at the next senior pilot's meeting, I think."

"Yeah I wouldn't hold my breath on that one," Stirling tells Micah good-naturedly. When Astraea mentions Addison, she makes a bit of a face and says, "I bet he would have found some way to leverage it into another punishment detail." She settles in to listen to the next song, picking up her glass for a drink.

"Now, following such a performance will be quite hard," Paquette remarks as he gets to his feet to move over to pick a song. Looking a bit thoughtful as he picks one, he looks out into the room again, offering everyone present a brief grin. There's a brief pause as he takes a deep breath, before he begins on his chosen song.

"Prob'ly by sellin' it round th' ship," Astraea says of the male Walker's tendency to get NJP'd. She's been dealing with such details herself, after Camp Thorpe. Sunny's abandoned beer goes fast as the Raptor pilot downs roughly half the glass. Drawing one leg up onto her chair, she folds a bit into herself as she watches Paquette take the stage. This is why she collected music from her fellow pilots; no one wanted to be stuck with primarily Scorpian plus a few additional pop songs from the other colonies. They have plenty of variety to work with, for sure. It's clear she's unfamiliar with the tune... or she's just drunk enough to stare off into space.

"There weren't any warnings." Abigail seems only too happy to lapse into silence, allowing Micah to laugh himself back into calm, the combat engineer's attention shifting from the stage, in between performances, to the rest of the bar, sighting any other wolves that might be caught up in the bar. It's the movement of the next members of the wing that draws her attention back to the stage, once again listening with that odd intensity that seems to take this all much more seriously than perhaps might be warranted.

Paq heartily earns Micah's attention. By this point? He'd successfully stifled his laughter with that cigar. He was, actually, chewing rather quietly. "Oh, but there were, Abbs. But there were." His bright grey eyes shift from the stage to the woman next to him, an eyebrow arching as he examines her. His hand falls back atop hers. It's a long moment before he looks up at Stirling. "I'm still waiting for a jam session, sir. I know a guy who can play a few blues chords on piano, you know."

Stirling chuckles after Astraea's remark, giving a knowing nod. "Probably." She claps for Paquette when he finishes and then glances at her watch, looking a little surprised by the time. Micah gets a smile. "I still say you're only setting yourself up for disappointment there, Busker. I don't play that well." She rises then. "If you'll excuse me, I have a 'date' for a vid chat with my son." One of the luxuries of being on a planet with civilian comms access. She gets out some cubits - more than her share given that she only had the one drink - to chip in for the refreshments. "Thanks for putting this together Nova. Good night everyone."

There's clapping for Paquette's efforts once he's done (after she quickly sets down her drink), but Astraea's attention is rapidly arrested by Stirling. "Tell Max 'hi' for me, Whisper? An' that I look forward to hearin' more of his thoughts on pilots." There's a slightly broader smile for the CAG before Nova's grabbing her drink again. "So, Busker... you gonna put us all to shame or should someone else go back up there?"

"Good evening, Major. Thank you for allowing me to crash the party." Abigail shakes her head, as she watches Paquette finish out his song, eyes settling back on Micah at the question, "You know once you get started, it's going to be a hell of a thing. And this place could use a hell of a thing. But that's just my two cents."

Applause for Paquette. It's as simple as that. "Neither does my friend, sir. But I think you could probably get something out that won't crack the bulkhead." Micah offers Stirling as she stands to leave. He watches her toss the cubits on the table with a quiet eye, digging enough out of his own pocket to foot the rest of the bill for the refreshments. As soon as the money hits the table, Astraea's question followed by Abigail's suggestion seem to catch him slightly off guard. "I haven't sung in front of people in years, guys. I bet you've all left me in the dust at this point."

Stirling smiles to Nova. "I will." Micah gets a less certain but nevertheless promising, "We'll see." She heads on out.

The growing collection of cubits on the table draws Astraea's attention and she's rather quiet for a time. Unlike some, the only money she has are what she's paid. She has no pre-military funds to draw on. No rich family. It's why she does so little shopping during leave. She's saving for a potential future. Or, to foot the bill at times like this. So not having to dip into her savings? Well. She looks at Stirling and Micah both, sheepish. "Thank you." For the latter there's a bit of a snort. "I wasn't so hot up there. You'd do lightyears better."

"These aren't people, Micah, most of them are your squadronmates and fellow wolves. I think they'd be more forgiving than 'people'." because it usually is easier to get back on the horse when you've got people around who support you, "So you can, or I will. I think I might be able to pull something out of my hat." Abigail seems as game as any, even if she's not had nary a sip of alcohol or water to fuel her attempt at public performance.

Micah raises an eyebrow at Abigail, that cigar still clenched rather precariously between his teeth. Quiet eyes study her a long moment, shifting slowly to the form of the alcohol fueled Astraea. "You two." He murmurs quietly. "Are terrible influences." The rolled stick of tobacco is pulled from his mouth and handed over to Abigail without another word. He stands, looks around the establishment with that brow still arched, and heads up to the stage. "Let's see what Nova picked that I may actually know the words to..." His voice, musical with that Caprican accent, drifts quietly over the nearly empty establishment. Thankfully, it was mostly Wolves in the room. "Ahh. Yeah, I think I know this one. If I suck, turn the volume down, yeah? Let the people bask in the power of the instrumental?" Words, offered with a smile, to the man controlling the music booth. And, like an old friend, Knoor approaches that microphone.


The song is quiet in regards to instrumentals, in all reality. What it isn't quiet in? Is raw emotion. That, in all honesty, is something Micah has always had in spades.

<FS3> Micah rolls Singing: Great Success (7 7 7 7 6 4 4 4 1)

"I do my best," Astraea says after Micah, rolling her shoulder in the languid, soporific shrug of the comfortably drunk. She down the rest of her glass as he makes his way up to the stage, leaning forward to refill it. There's a lot of music available, but it's all based on what the Wolves' air wing enjoys and had to contribute. It's definitely a more sedate song, but those seem to be winning the evening. "An' he thought," she notes sidelong to Abigail, "he was rusty."

Once Micah makes to rise from the seat at the table, Abigail settles in, eyes tracking the blonde pilot on his way, gauging the tone of the room, "If they start throwing lingerie, get a bag. That's a whole secondary profit market." Because that sort of thing, is still sort of a thing, even for rock stars who have kept themselves out of the spotlight. A furrow of her brows, as she hears the song, not one with which she seems to be familiar, glancing over to Astraea, "Makes you wonder what he sounds like when he's got a bit of polish on him, doesn't it?"

By the time the music stops, Micah is bare centimeters from that microphone. His eyes had, at some point, fallen closed, and his breath was coming in short and slightly ragged. It was he was in the middle of recovering from a light jog. When the lids rise and those bright grey eyes are able to look back out at the crowd, Knoor laughs and actually reddens a bit, looking down and straightening the mic stand. It was one thing to perform for strangers. But friends? That changed the game. With a smile and a nod to the booth operator, the tall pilot waves and exits the stage on the left side, completely like a professional. By the time his feet take him back to the table? He'd almost completely regained his breath. "Your turn, Abbs." He offers, settling into his chair and laughing a bit. "Ooh, some things. Let me tell you. Singing in a bar. Memories."

There's applause from Astraea when Micah finishes, even if she has to fumble through putting down a drink again. "I can guess," she decides, in regards to what he'd sound like. "But he's a damn sight better'n I was. Glad he went up." If only to mean she didn't have to to help keep things rolling. There is a smirk for the Viper pilot once he's regained his seat and she tilts her head to the pitcher. "Sure you don't wanna drink? I mean, you're payin' an' all."

Save for that single comment, Abigail is perfectly silent for the length of Micah's performance, hands settling folded below her chin, her head resting gently on them as she watched the man perform. So good is the performance, and so familiar the voice to the people within the bar who are not wolves, that the place nearly falls completely silent for the duration of the song, and the man gets a rousing applause as he steps off. The murmur of questions are nearly as loud, as Abigail rises to take her turn, "Well, let's hope that this time it doesn't end with me nearly splitting a seam." Not that she's dressed in anything that tight or scandalous. Close-fitting jeans and a camisole. She marches gamely up to the stage, before she rifles through the selections for the song that seems to suit the evening. As soon as the song begins, she launches right in, actually doing a bit of dancing. of a sort. All she's missing is the stripper pole. She must have left that with the male Walker. Song: 'Dirty Talk' by Wynter Gordon https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=38IOqcYxgqc

"Oh, no thank you, Nova. All I need to keep me going? Nicotine." Micah replies as he instantly picks up his cigar and places it back between his teeth. As Abbie stands and moves toward the stage, Micah's eyes track her, watch her steps up, her approach to the mic, and her selection. It all makes him laugh quietly to himself, reaching for the pitcher and offering to refill Nova's mug with the slightly different substance. And? For the second time tonight? A song, sung on a stage, catches him off guard. He looks over, watching her all the while that cigar ceases it's moving in his mouth. "Trouble." He repeats, smiling darkly. "I told you. But I'll be damned if I haven't always been a sucker for a good bit of trouble." He pauses, his eyes still on the stage as he leans over to Astraea conspiratorially. "I don't suppose they allow smoking in here, do they?"

Her cup is slid closer for the refill. Astraea hasn't yet unfurled herself from the chair. She's curled her petite frame into it as best sh can without doing revealing things with that dress. "You're a Viper pilot. Th' whole lot of ya are trouble." There's a flash of amusement on her features before she's watching the stage. Drinking deep of the beer she finally looks at him again. "Go for it," the Raptor pilot opines. "Argentum Bay is all 'bout pleasin' th' tourists an' we're Fleet. They'll deal." She lifts her mug in salute to Abigail when the song is done.

If anything could be said for the female Walker, it's that she does know how to put on a show, and she ends her own song with a very different smattering of applause, in the form of catcalls, none of which she seems to either hear or, if heard, acknowledge. No, it's back to the table, after a brief stop off at the bar for another pitcher, but this one of more ice water. That sets on the table, along with a fresh glass for herself, she slides back into her seat beside Micah. "I don't think this place serves the sort of food I'm contemplating." And again, that glance, to see the wolves starting to thin themselves out.


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