tampered | Log; open

Blue is mostly playing the trumpet and having a good time with the band, but from time to time he manages to come down from the stage for a drink and a moment with the crowd, and whoever wishes to say hello. He's wearing his usual blue vest over his usual blue getup, but if anyone looks closely they'll see that it's got an old-fashioned, nineteen-twenties cut to it.

He's smiling, he's happy.

But then, with Blue, it's hard to tell.

Tony waved to Blue between sets, glad to see his boss enjoying himself. There were quite a few people waiting to mingle with Blue and congratulate him on Blue Light reaching the one year mark, so Tony didn't do more then wave.

He figured Blue would make his way over to the bar eventually and he could give his own congratulations.

The band is certainly keeping busy this evening, but every so often Rosella finds a minute to sneak away and go enjoy a drink for herself. It's a pleasant party, this speakeasy, bouncing and lively and bright. Which, she supposes, is rather how an anniversary ought to be.

So when she does manage to catch a glimpse of Blue in the crowd, she starts to work her way toward him at once; it's far from the first time she's seen him this evening, but there isn't much opportunity for idle chatting when the band is playing, after all. With a drink in her hand and a bright smile on her face, she weaves her way through the crowd until she reaches his side.

Blue smiled when he saw Tony wave, and he waved back. It was a bit off, a little, to see Tony without Lee, even after all the month he had been back. It had been even more off to see Tony and know that Tony didn't know who the Corinthian was. It wasn't off-putting, it was just...strange. Like a stranger.

But that didn't bother Blue, even though he would like a friend who knew who Cori was and what Cori did and would maybe not think about what he did to try and save his relationship. But that was impossible, maybe, so Blue didn't expect it. Instead he sidled over to the bar when he found the time and gave Tony a nod. "Hey," he said. "Pour me one." Virgin, please, as usual.

Blue doesn't turn his head when he feels someone near him - this person is someone he is very familiar with, he doesn't need to move to know who she is. "Hello," he says quietly, resisting the urge to steal her drink just to make her squeal in protest. "How are you, Miss Rosella?" he asks, nudging her just a bit with his shoulder.

The truth is that as much as she claims to rely on him, Rosella is as much Blue's shield as he is hers. Maybe not in the same way; maybe not from physical harm, but sometimes he can have a bad day, or a terrible night, and the next time he talks to her suddenly everything can fall away. Blue hopes that isn't a terrible kind of advantage that he's taking of her, not when she is so kind to him.

Tony mixed Blue a drink without alcohol (he figured that it didn't go well with playing the trumpet and singing, Zev had said something about that once) and placed it in front of Blue with a smile.

"You look good," he said, meaning it earnestly. Unlike Tony in his get-up, Blue actually wore his 20's styled clothes like he belonged in them. And, from what Tony knew of Blue so far, he probably did. Sometimes it was weird to think about the mish-mash of people from different times here in the City.

"Everyone so far seems to be enjoying themselves. I think we can call the party a success."

Considering that every time Blue got smashed it always seemed to result in something odd happening - the last occurrence being when he and Peter had too much tequila and Peter confessed about Caspian (of course, a previous Peter, as he's pretty sure the current Peter has no memory of this event) Blue felt it a better idea not to drink. He didn't need to wake up in the morning with a battle plan of how to storm the Prison in three moves or less in one hand and a sword in the other.

"Thanks," he said, earnestly. He actually much preferred this kind of clothing - and it even had little blue b-flat notes embroidered into the buttonholes.

He took a look around and nodded. "I certainly think so, people getting taken to prison non withstanding."

Tony wasn't sure about the slicked back hair, or the suspenders, although he supposed they worked better than the belts he was having to wear lately. Formal wear just wasn't him thing and he always felt awkward in anything more dressy than jeans and a t-shirt. It was a small comfort that this was more a costume party than anything else, so he wasn't supposed to look like he belonged in such an outfit.

He worked the bar which was busy and bustling and louder than usual but that was okay. It was an easy kind of loudness, not a pushy kind. Money flitted across the bar and into the cashbox, as well as many bills into the tip jar which pleased Tony immensely. He wanted a nice chunk of change to put towards the Welcome Center.

Every so often, Tony's eyes would stray to the watch on his wrist and then out to the dance floor. He'd be getting a break soon and then there'd be his own chance to mingle and join in the loudness. A crowd with an easy vibe was always a welcome distraction and Tony was ready to let his hair down. As much as it could be when slicked back, that is.

Since two of his friends were having problems with alcohol at the moment (although Chuck would probably swear up and down that he didn't have a problem), Tony wasn't at all opposed to fixing virgin drinks for a while. It had never been his drug of choice anyway.

He frowned at the mention of the sudden arrests of so many people. It didn't seem right and who were these guys taking prisoners to the jail anyway? The police force didn't seem to be behind it.

"Yeah, well hopefully no one tries to bust this place. After all, we aren't really in the prohibition era."

Blue took a sip and smiled, and pulled a tin of comfit from his pocket. "Great," he said, and took one, and let it sit on his tongue for a moment, before the next words that Tony said actually sunk in.

He sighed, then. "I don't think they will, and if they do, I'll go without a fuss. I'm not having them interrupt this party just because they want to arrest people." He shook his head. "I don't get it. This doesn't seem like a curse to me."

"I can hardly keep my toes from tapping! It's a wonderful time," she answers cheerfully, nudging him right back. It's a little tempting to tilt her head and rest it on his shoulder as she watches the crowd, but she'll settle for sipping her drink instead, blissfully unaware of the peril that drink might be in, if Blue changes his mind and decides to steal it away after all.

It's easy to forget all the thoughts she's been dwelling on for the past few days, standing here and listening to the music and soaking up the experience of the whole occasion. And it's odd to think of just how many times she's been here in the past year, sometimes laughing and sometimes in tears. A year can be such a very long time.

"So tell me," she adds, glancing over at Blue with a grin, "How close does all of this come to the real thing?"

"If it's not a curse, then what is it?" Tony worried out loud. "Some underground group involved with the prison? The Warden gone nuts?"

He hadn't seen Victory since he got back and that alarmed him too, although he did think that maybe she was with Henry. He didn't begrudge the two their time together but he wished they'd leave notes.

Blue looks over towards her, just a little. The fact that she's getting involved in a romance in any way at all is a little bit frustrating for Blue; not because he loves her romantically, but because he's never had a romance work out, and he doesn't want Rosella to be hurt like he was.

So Blue doesn't talk about that. Instead he looks around and tips his head a bit. It's not exactly like the 1920's...a lot of things were different. "Well," he finally says. "It's close enough to make me homesick for it. Timesick? Something like that," he says. It really was Blue's favorite twenty years, the time between the 1920's and the 1940s.

Edited 2009-09-11 05:40 (UTC)

And it's yet another wonderful thing she would've missed out on if she'd never come here at all, another memory she hopes she'll be able to keep when she does someday go home. And she is going home, someday, she knows that. But for right now, there's plenty of things tying her to the City, and Blue is one of them.

"You fit," she says, regarding him thoughtfully. "The music and the merriment and all...it's just right for you, somehow." It's just like Blue, come to think of it--a little bit jazz, a little bit blues, and a little bit swing, all rolled into one. "So I hope you're having fun tonight, too, because I know I certainly am."

Robin couldn't show up at the party without stopping by to visit-- visit, bother, did it make a difference in the end with Robin? --the proprietor himself. He makes his way over, a hi-ball glass in hand, to swing an arm around Blue's shoulders and plant a wet, friendly kiss smelling of sugar and booze on the side of his cheek before anyone has a chance to argue.

His sentiment is honest. Robin knows better than most how hard it is to get a business off of the ground in any economy. Most fail in the first year.

"For good luck!"

Blue isn't so sure about where home is anymore. But he twines one arm around Rosella's, and he feels a little closer to finding it. "Well, this is sort of who I am now." Once he was a soldier and once he was a clerk, but he's always been a bit of a musician.

He finally does steal her drink and takes a long sip, then hands it back, mostly intact. "I am having fun, Rosella. I always have fun." He wonders sometimes if he's transparent, if people know how sad he really is under the smile. But he smiles anyway. Rosella makes him happy.

"Where do you fit?"

For Robin's part, he looked like he belonged in nearly anything, not least among these a pair of expensive suspenders and oiled hair. He also had lived through the twenties and certainly felt like he belonged in a crowd, as well as at a bar, so it was all around a very workable night for the puck, who was feeling very much himself. Which meant finding his way to the bar where Tony was now working at the height of the night, already with plenty drink in him but room for much more.

At the moment his mark was the tip jar, which he had recently seen some hefty, larger bits of cash dropped into recently; easier to make stealing them worthwhile. He waited until Tony looked swamped and distracted by his watch before sidling onto a seat near the jar and reaching two scissoring fingers into the slit on the top, resting his chin casually against the back of his other wrist, propped up on the bartop.

Blue manages to tolerate the kiss, and he manages to do so with some grace - that is to say a genuine smile. He never really gets kissed, but a kiss on the cheek he can accept. And from Robin he knows it's probably as much a sign of drunkenness as affection, so it doesn't bother him.

"Thanks, Robin," he says. "Are you having fun?"

Tony collected another set of coins from the bar top along with an empty glass and juggled the two as he moved over to the cash box. The extra change he closed between his teeth, as he'd run out of hands for the moment and when he turned to drop off the coin into the tip jar he almost swallowed it instead.

"Robin!"

The theft of the drink does, in fact, get a squeal of protest out of Rosella, but it's a good-natured one and she doesn't mind sharing with Blue, anyway. And now she really does put her head on his shoulder, giving his arm a fond squeeze as she closes her eyes and just listens to the music for a moment.

Where does she fit? But what comes to mind as she considers the question aren't visions of places; no, she's thinking of faces, and laughter, and warmth, and fingers in her hair.

"With my friends," she answers, without opening her eyes.

"I am having the most fun that I could possibly hope to with my clothing still on, I will be perfectly honest. Take it as a compliment."

It is both a sign of drunkenness as well as affection, amongst other things, but the bright side of Robin is that he pays nearly everyone the same level of physical attention if he feels he can get away with it. With Blue, he does feel he can get away with it. So he raises a hand to fix the boy's hair a little as he moves away, giving him a critical look and framing him with boxed fingers.

"Don't you look a picture in that getup. Subtle difference, but still there. Such a character."

"Well then," Blue begins as he carefully spins her around with one arm - the Fable is much stronger than he looks - "I suppose you could say you are in a perfect place."

Blue wonders if he belongs with his friends. Fly and Pinocchio are both his friends, and good friends, but back in Fabletown he was friendly with many but not exactly friends with everyone, and that was okay. He sets Rosella down from her spin, so lightly her heels won't even click when they hit the floor.

"Don't you think?"

Don't go choking, Tony. Imagine how awkward it would be if Robin Goodfellow had to give you CPR. Robin didn't even have the shame or decency to look startled, or guilty, for being caught in the act. He didn't even remove his fingers from the jar and, instead, turned his head slowly to look at the other man with a small but wicked, pointed little smile and half-lidded eyes. He was, in fact, particularly drunk. But still more than sober enough to function, clearly.

"Look, he knows his shapes. I am so proud."

Edited 2009-09-11 06:28 (UTC)

Blue raises a hand to gesture as he speaks, "I will, thank you. After all, coming from you, that's saying quite a bit."

He lets his hair get ruffled, too, if only because it happens to Blue with everyone. While to Robin he really is a child, he's used to grannies in the mundy and men who don't know he's older than old, or people like Cindy who know but just don't see the age. When Robin boxes his fingers Blue gives him a bit of a grin, the kind that he remembers from the 20's that would get him into the less savory kind of speakeasies. The music was still good, there.

"As authentic as I could get without having my closet from back home," Blue says. He tugs on the bottom of his vest. "Pretty sharp, me."

Tony's eyebrows went up and he put the glasses in his hands down so he could smack the puck's hands away from the cash.

"That's for charity," he scolded, the words muffled around the coin between his lips. "And no, you don't count."

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