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Alastor's head falls back, before he straightens up again. What the fuck just happened? His nose hurts because of the fist that just collided into it. The blonde boy that had been sitting on the stool in front of him was now apologizing profusely, gathering the napkins that had been used as coasters to try and stop the blood flow from his nose.
His nose was bleeding, right. He frowned at the boy, not hearing any words he said, just a ringing in his ears from all the noise. The music in this bar was way too loud, he already regretted saying yes to his roommate. He knew he wouldn’t like it, and yet, he came. Husker had told him that there’d be jazz (his favourite genre), and there was, but it was played by amateurs that didn’t know how to make a saxophone sound relatively good. Really, who would think of a karaoke jazz-focused bar?
Husker left, taking Angel with him, holding his waist protectively. They went to talk to whoever, and Alastor was left alone with the blonde, still repeating ‘sorry’ with a great fervor. With a contemptuous glance, he muttered an acceptable answer to an apology, and tilted his head back to stop the bleeding. With a gentle hand, the guy tilted his head down towards his neck, and gingerly explained that it’s better to tilt your head forward. To that, Alastor muttered a thank you and thought nothing more of it.
Angel came back with a grin and Husk soon followed, lipstick marks all over his face, from Angel's lipstick. Through the loudspeaker, Alastor’s name was heard, as well as Lucifer. He didn’t know who he was until the blonde boy got up. The voice told them to come up to the stage, making Alastor frown.
He glared at Husker from his seat, mouthing some profanity to him, before walking up to the stage. He wasn’t one to say no or regret things, so he was 85% sure that the performance would go well. That good feeling vanished as soon as Lucifer stepped on stage, looking sheepish. Oh, fuck Husker and his boyfriend.
He tried not to look too disappointed at the fact that the blonde man was there, taking a seat near the piano to start playing, but it showed.
“Improvise.”
“What.”
“Improvise! Isn’t that what jazz is about? Start on the trumpet,” He said, pointing at the saxophone “and just play.”
This man is an idiot. A true, proper idiot. He’s fucked. He’s going to make a fool of himself in front of his friend(s? Was Angel a friend as well?). He didn’t even know what a saxophone was!
With a deep breath and a glare at the blonde, he started to play what he knew. I’ve Got You Under My Skin. He watched as Husk practically sprinted towards the platform, grinning, as he was aware it was a song he was particularly fond of. Alastor assumed that Husk would sing, but was a bit thrown off when he yanked the saxophone from his hands, pushing him towards the microphone slightly.
Thank God for TVs. He looked up at the karaoke machine, with the words on, and the piano notes, something that’d help the blonde, and started singing. His voice was slightly raspy from not using it, but it sounded more like Sinatra, right? He held the microphone with both hands to hide their shaking, putting on his most charming smile.
Fake it ‘til you make it was a lifestyle, and Alastor knew it well.
The music was nice, the piano only stumbled a few times, and his own voice was relatively okay (that was false, his voice was better than average and he knew it, but he was humble). With a wink at the piano man (another song that Alastor enjoyed immensely), just for show, he kept singing.
At the end of the song, people clapped. More than Alastor thought they would, honestly, and Angel whooped many times. He quite liked the attention, he supposed. Leaning back on the piano, he looked at the man, who put his hand out.
Alastor tentatively shook it, looking him up and down. He seemed cheerful, but it looked forced. Hm.
“Angels friend?”
“Yes.”
Well, that was the end of that conversation. What a dull man. With a sigh, Alastor took Husk's arm (something he always did, partly to piss off Angel, partly to stabilize himself whilst walking. Low iron was a fucker), and walked back down to their seats.
The bartender so kindly gave Alastor a free drink, who passed it down to Angel. He didn’t feel like drinking tonight, already shaken up by the thrill of the song and the performance and everything. Maybe he’d like to have a microphone in front of him. God knows there were many podcasters nowadays, what’s one more? Especially one that’s more old school (in his humble opinion, his generation was utterly fucked).
It was a nice night, omitting the punch in the nose and the nosebleed that came after. Maybe Lucifer wasn’t so bad? Alastor was sure that they’d meet again, given how much Husk liked Angel.