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With a sharp wolf-whistle from Rosinante and a poorly restrained cackle from Bell-mère, the current performer stepped off the stage with an awkward wave, passing the mic off to someone else. Law, however, produced an extremely unimpressed sigh, munching on some soggy bar fries. “I don’t know why you’re cheering. That was horrible.”
“That’s the point.” Bell-mère wiped her smile away. A swig of her whisky helped. “Kid, there are three kinds of people who go to karaoke bars. You got the people like us, right? We’re the majority.” She motioned to herself, Rosinante, and Law, rolling her wrist in a loose swirl. “We come here to sit back and watch it all go down. And then…” She patted the table as she jammed her thumb towards the previous performer, “Then you got that guy back there. Sounded like absolute shit, but he’s drunk off his ass, so it’s all good fun. It’s just funny.” She glanced across the dark, neon-accented seating area, pointing past a strip of green LEDs. “And then you got the try-hards, right, like those two. They’ve already got a whole performance ready, they’ve been practicing for weeks. They’re gonna sound good. Total snooze-fest.”
“What?” Rosinante questioned with a tone of sharp contest, “Snooze-fest? Nah, the good performances are just as fun as the shitty ones.”
“No they’re not.” Bell-mère countered with a smile, “If I wanted to see good singing, I would go to a concert.”
“Yeah, well, that’s like, completely different.” Rosinante muted a burp and motioned towards the stage with his empty bottle, “This is free, first of all, and second of all, they’re singing like, classics. No original music, no shitty music. It’s like, good stuff.”
“You’re too easy to please.” Bell-mère reached for a fry herself, seeming just as disgusted with them as Law was. Still, she ate it anyway. “Someone could go up there and tear a fingernail off and you’d think it’s a good performance.”
“Well, yeah.” Rosinante slurred a little, “Takes a lot of guts to get up there on stage, y’know? I’m gonna cheer no matter what. Good, it’s, it’s arbitrary, you know? What’s good for some people isn’t good to others.”
“Uh-huh.” She muttered, finishing off her glass. “Think you’ve had a little too much to drink, bud. You’re getting philosophical on me.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He set his bottle down, “What, am I making too much sense?”
A snort from Bell-mère. Which, was followed by a wince, when the woman on stage decided to try and take her song up an octave. “Christ. Still think this is good?”
Judging from the expression he was wearing, he didn’t. Although as soon as Bell-mère looked his way, he grinned something goofy and held a thumbs up.
The pink-haired woman sighed and leaned over their table, meeting Law’s concerned gaze. “Anyone ever tell you your dad’s full of shit?”
“Yeah.” Law muttered, investigating a somehow burnt and undercooked fry. “Tell myself all the time.” He let it flop back into the tray pathetically, and Bell-mère took some mercy on it by gobbling it up. “I don’t even know why he dragged me out here. I’m plenty old enough to stay home alone. Your kids are home alone and they’re like, ten!”
“Ah-ah, they think they’re home alone.” Bell-mère chuckled, “I’ve got Genzo around, and he has access to the security cameras.”
“Security cameras.” Law repeated, deadpan.
“Yeah. For the farm.” Bell-mère rocked an ankle, “And Nami.”
The teen tsked and smiled warily, “Yeah, and you want me to babysit her.”
“Hey, I’ll pay you. I’m not talking pocket change, either, I’m talking big bucks.” She kept her voice down, mostly so Rosinante wouldn’t hear.
“Yeah, hard pass, thanks.” Law declined carefully, “I’ve got enough to worry about keeping my eyes on Cora.” He nursed his glass of water, glancing across the table with fluttering eyes. “Shit.”
“What’s up?” She perked up.
“Where the hell did he go?” Law’s head turned rapidly, “He was just there a second ago!”
Sure enough, Rosinante’s chair was empty. Bell-mère glanced towards the bathrooms first, trying to pick him out of the modest line. “I don’t see him…” She muttered, “Maybe he went out for a smoke break.”
“Yeah, but wouldn’t he tell us?” Law scratched under his cap, “I hope he didn’t—”
“Oh, shit.”
Law and Bell-mère’s gaze settled to the front stage. How he made it up there so quickly was a shocker to both of them. Watching him try and adjust the microphone stand to accommodate for his height was enough of a show.
“Oh my god…” Law pulled his hat down over his face. “Please, please, tell me this is a dream…”
Bell-mère just sat back and snickered with eager anticipation. “This oughtta be good. He can’t actually sing, right?”
“No!” Law seethed, knuckles white around the brim of his hat. “Why does he have to be so goddamn embarrassing?”
“Hey everyone.” Rosinante greeted with a dumb wave, smiling at the full-house. Throwing a finger-gun towards Law and Bell-mère’s table. “Figure I’d sing an old classic to prove a friend wrong.”
“Get on with it!” Someone in the audience shouted.
Rosinante struggled with the mic stand for another second before he gave up and just detached the device, holding the wire in his free hand. “Let me know if this is too boring for you, Bell-mère.”
The pink-haired woman laughed and held out a thumbs-up as he smiled at her and the music started to play. “Look, can I just, leave?” Law hissed towards the former marine. “I’ll just go straight home, it’s only a ten-minute walk!”
“Nah, nah, you gotta stay with us, bud.” Bell-mère patted his back, “Let your old man make a fool of himself. He deserves this, you know.”
“Deserves what?” Law spat, “Being laughed at?”
“He deserves the right to be free.” She corrected with a warm smile, shutting Law up pretty efficiently. “The right to have fun.”
With an irritated grunt, the teen folded his arms again. “If anyone at school hears about this, I’m never letting him live it down.”
As the dramatic intro music faded out, because of course Rosinante chose the most over-played heartbreak pop-ballad that was all the rage twenty years ago, the former agent raised the mic to his mouth and began to sing. For the first few lines, Law continued to hide under his hat, Bell-mère smirking something playful, prepared for him to struggle as soon as the vocal requirements for the song picked up.
Oh, but there was no struggle. As the instrumentals built up in complexity, so did he. His expression shifted perfectly to match the song, immediately gathering total attention from the crowd. His voice supported both lower pitches and higher exclamations with a heavenly inflection, graced held tones with a flawless vibrato. Bell-mère’s smile slowly faded as the chorus approached. Law tilted his hat up and stared with wide, blank eyes, just as disbelieving as Bell-mère.
He carried the melody with more depth than the original artist, twisting the words with glorious tragedy, a sweet, intoxicating richness as he balled his fists with total immersion. Whenever there was an instrumental rest, he swaggered about and shook his head, wiping at imaginary tears. He eased into the next verse with that resounding baritone, enrapturing the audience as he gestured to them sympathetically throughout lyrical phrases.
Bell-mère swallowed hard and toyed with her empty glass. “Law.” She said lowly, “Thought you told me he couldn’t sing.”
“I—I mean, I've never heard him sing! I didn’t know he could do this.” He smushed his face into his palm as Rosinante maintained a high, held note with more skill than most professionals, striking a dramatic pose while he was at it. “This is…somehow, just as embarrassing.”
“I think this loops around from being so embarrassing, it’s impressive.” Bell-mère decided as the instrumental bridge approached. Rosinante threw her a grin, and she flipped him the bird. He muffled a laugh with the back of his hand before raising the mic again, finishing off the song with one more, heart-wrenchingly perfect chorus, the audience cheering him on afterwards with all signs of genuine glee and approval. Someone even threw him a rose.
Of course, he stumbled going down the stairs, but otherwise managed to collect himself enough to return to his table with Bell-mère and Law, a bashful flush coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Kind of rusty, but I think I made my point.”
“Where the hell did you learn how to sing like that?” Bell-mère demanded heatedly.
A modest shrug. “Shanties.”
“Shanties?” Law repeated incredulously. “What the hell kind of shanties were you singing?”
“I used to lead them, actually.” He confessed with a laugh, “My officers would always get a few drinks in me and make me pick some songs for us to sing. I could never figure out why. Do I really sound that good?”
“Yes! What the hell, Rosinante?” Bell-mère threw her hands in the air, “What was the point of that?”
His tipsy eyes fluttered. “Uh…we, uh. I don’t really remember. I was making a point, I know that much. And I think I won.”
The pink-haired woman shook her head and snagged him by the wrist. “I’m taking you home. Before your new fans convince you into an encore.”
“And what would be so bad about that?” Rosinante protested, although he let her drag him along without any resistance. Law was of course, thrilled to get out of this place. “You just said I’m good at it! Clearly you enjoyed it.”
“Shut it.” Bell-mère snapped with a playfully annoyed grin, the crisp evening air sobering and refreshing. “Or I’ll go up there and really give you something to regret.”
The blond laughed as he kept close to Bell-mère’s side, which, she’d admit, made her a little nervous, given his aptitude with eating asphalt. “Thanks for taking me out, though. All jokes aside.” He held up the slightly wilted rose and extended it towards her. “For you. I—I know I had fun. I hope you did too.”
Bell-mère found herself victim to a swirl of girlish flattery, accepting the prickly flower. Law grunted with disgust and pushed between both of them, leading the way. “Can you two keep the sappiness to a minimum while I’m still here, please?”
The pair of former marines exchanged a glance, paired with coy snickers. Bell-mère leaned into his side and Rosinante threw an arm around her shoulders for a brief hug. At least, until he staggered over a crack in the sidewalk and sent them both on their asses.