doesntsing | open post

[ OOC: no problem! Hope your week goes well! ]

Beer in hand, Susie makes a beeline for Midge and Alfred. Before Midge can even say anything, Susie is sizing Alfred up.

“So, this is the British guy?” She asks. “Well, he’s not weird-looking.”

“Why would he be weird-looking?” Midge asks somewhat defensively.

“All British people are weird looking,” Susie says.

"By weird looking do you mean too pale and with bad teeth?" Alfred asks, lifting his eyebrows at Midge. His tone isn't snarky, just mildly curious.

“He doesn’t talk like the Queen,” Susie comments. “Let me see your teeth.”

“Susie!,” Midge says, incensed. “He’s not a horse. What the hell are you doing.”

“Making sure he’s worth whatever distraction he’s going to be for you.”

Midge rolls her eyes and looks at Alfred. This is what she had been apologizing for.

"Course I don't talk like the Queen, she's a posh bird. Like Midge." He says with a little smile because once again, Americans just can't tell the difference between regional accents.

"And I promise to only distract her when she's not on stage."

Susie looks at Midge. “Oh, I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

“I’m not that posh,” Midge replies. “A ‘posh bird’ is—“

“Yeah, yeah, I know what it is,” Susie cuts in. She does not know what it is. The British have weird slang. Her eyes give Alfred another wary once over. “Well, the quality of her performances hasn’t slipped yet, so I guess I’m fine with you.”

"Gee thanks." He quips back, tipping a wink to Midge to show her he doesn't mind Susie's brash attitude and then grows slightly more serious.

"But seriously, Midge isn't the first performer I've known. I understand it takes a lot of work to be successful so I'm not going to do anything to hinder that."

“Do you date a lot of performers?” Susie asks, an eyebrow raised.

“He’s not dating me because he thinks he’s going to cash in if I hit it big, if that’s what you’re implying,” Midge retorts.

"No, I've only dated one other, she was a stage actress."

He says and then shifts gears to make sure he doesn't have to talk about Esme anymore.

"What about you Susie? Do you date often?"

Alfred is very good at hiding his reactions. Susie probably didn’t even notice that anything was amiss, but Midge felt it in the way that Alfred’s arm tightened ever so slightly around her waist and a slight dip in his smile. Micro reactions that she’s come to notice in the time that they’ve been together. Midge knows there’s someone from the past, someone Alfred doesn’t like to talk about.

Susie just stares blankly at Alfred for a moment before turning back to Midge.

“I booked you at Mr. Lu’s in Chinatown next week.”

“Is that a Chinese restaurant?” Midge asks.

“No. It’s a club. The manager promised me you’d have the 9:00 slot. If he bumps you, I get to punch him in the face.”

Yeah he had an idea that would make Susie switch gears and Alfred's smile becomes a bit more natural again.

"Are all managers here in America so protective of their clients or is Susie just one of the better ones?"

Being brought to a whole new world has been an exciting experience, to say the least. Jaskier has only been here for a couple of months, but he's already decided that he doesn't want to leave. Especially since his whole (found) family has been brought along. Now that Geralt, Cirilla, and Yennefer are safe from the war that was threatening the Continent, Jaskier can finally relax and dedicate his life to unshamed hedonism.

(The warm water available in every house is a big selling point.)

Unfortunately, being at a new place also means having to rebuild his career from scratch. He's picked a few new instruments, even if he hasn't mastered them yet, but tavern (or bar, whatever they call it) crawling for gigs like a newbie isn't something he missed. At least people in this world are receptive to his music, and the bigotry is low.

Well, most of the time anyway.

Jaskier still doesn't take criticism well, so it's not surprising that after a heckler got a little too loud, chaos took over the bar. And here he is now, sitting in a cell. Again. Story of his life. At least the heckler was sent to a different cell; thank the gods for small favors. He's already made his call, and now he has to wait - he's never been good at waiting. An anti-authorities song is already on the edge of his lips when suddenly the cell opens and another prisoner is brought in. A prisoner that's very easy on the eyes.

Blue eyes sparkle at the sight, and he isn't at all smooth when he checks the woman out. Not only is she a beauty, she has style, something he greatly appreciates.

"I must say," his tone is clearly flirty, a grin reaching his lips as he speaks from the corner of the cell. "I usually don't expect people who dress as well as I do in this particular neck of the woods." His finger makes a whirl to indicate the lovely jail they're in.

Midge wouldn’t think that she looks very attractive right now, considering that she’s highly irritated. A male guard leads her in to the cell, squeezing her arm far too tightly as he does. “Let go of me!” she snaps. “I can walk on my own.” The officer dumps her in the cell and then leaves, closing the door behind him. “Asshole,” Midge murmurs under her breath and rubs at her arm. It will probably bruise, and she wonders if she can sue for that.

Of all the nights for The Wolford to have a raid, it’s a night where Susie wasn’t there. Thankfully, Midge was able to call her as soon as she got through booking and she’s on her way. It’s not that Midge hasn’t been arrested before, but this time they lumped her in with the other performers, despite the fact that she’s fully dressed and they weren’t. She’s been charged with indecent exposure before, so it’s not new, but she’s actually innocent this time. And sober.

She’s been separated from the other girls for some reason, a ray of hope that the cops might actually know she’s not one of the dancers, but she probably shouldn’t get her hopes up. The only other person in the cell is a man who is quite obviously giving her a once over. At least the cell is bars on 3 of the 4 walls, so the officers can see what’s happening inside. If they care.

Midge smooths out her dress and sits down opposite the other man. He looks friendly enough, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. You can’t trust that people have good intentions in a city like this.

“You must be new here,” she says, exhaling deeply and resting her head back against the wall. “It’s not my first rodeo, though it has been a while.”

She dresses well and she's feisty. Jaskier adores her already.

He's a bit disappointed to see her sit on the opposite side, but he doesn't blame her. Jaskier wouldn't sit next to the kind of people you usually find in jail either, because of safety but also because of how they fucking smell. Add to this the fact she's a woman and he's a male stranger... yeah, not blaming her at all. Good for her for taking care of herself.

That won't stop him from trying to charm her, of course. He just needs to prove he's friendly first. Jaskier chuckles when she calls him new, waving a dismissive hand with more flourish than necessary. Not even jail will stop him from being dramatic.

"New to this specific establishment?" Oh, the sarcasm is strong. "Yes. But far from new to ending my nights behind bars." A wink - the first of many to come. "If you're willing to clap along, I have at least three songs for Officer Nincompoop over there." The insult matches his tone, which indicates he doesn't like the man at all. His voice turns friendly and curious when he adds- "Although I wouldn't mind hearing how a pretty thing like you has had so many rodeos, as you call them."

She’s ready to scream and claw at him if he tries anything. This is not the night. Fortunately, it seems like he’s content to flirt with her from eight feet away.

Very dramatic. And he’s winking at her. Midge furrows her brow. “You have three songs? You mean you wrote them? How long have you been in here?” Maybe they put her in this cell because it’s the long term one and they won’t let Susie bail her out. Is she going to be stuck here for weeks?

She sighs, trying to push down her anxiety. “Usually it’s because I say something on stage that someone doesn’t like and they call the cops on me, despite the fact that I have a First Amendment right to free speech.” The last bit is directed to the officer near the holding cell, who is doing a spectacular job of ignoring her. “Tonight, they raided the club I was working at and I got rounded up, despite not working.”

A beat. “I mean, I was working. I just wasn’t doing what the other girls were doing.”

Another beat. “I don’t mean they were working. There’s no sex. None of it is strictly illegal. People just can’t mind their own business.”

Jaskier wrinkles his nose at the idea that he's been here long enough to write three songs about these pigs. Although part of him wonders if one day, Geralt or Yennefer will let him spend the night in jail just to teach him a lesson. He wouldn't put it past them.

"Yes, I wrote them, but not here! I meant from previous 'rodeos'." He's still not sure what a rodeo actually is, but he got the twist of the metaphor. "Law enforcement is the same everywhere." Wanting to both prove himself and impress her, he glances at the guard and starts singing. "♫ You think you're a god, please! You're a codpiece, now suck this D--" He keeps the D note for a few seconds in perfect pitch before ending it with "-Natural. ♫"

"Don't make me muzzle you, bard."

Jaskier rolls his eyes, the strong sarcasm returning. "Perfect service as usual."

His body language completely changes when the lovely lady touches on subjects dear to Jaskier's heart: the stage, opening your mouth to say too much against society's expectations, and censorship. His whole body tenses as he frowns.

"You're a performer?"

Things get worse as the description continues. 'Working girls' usually mean prostitution, but this lady clarifies there's no sex actually happening. The way she vaguely talks about the place implies something dirty, though. A raid. Working girls. But this one doesn't work, not 'like that'...

Then it hits him. He remembers some of the girls he slept with telling him about a lovely comedian who supports them instead of judging them. Someone who brings them some laughter before having to deal with the creeps in the crowd.

"Motherfucker-- Did they raid The Wolford?" Anger clear in his face and the way he stomps, Jaskier rushes to the bars and grabs them with white knuckles as he calls the names of a few of the girls he knows. He can hear some female voices responding, but he can't understand what they're saying. It seems they're in the last cells at the end of the corridor. Fuck.

He turns to his cellmate with worry written in his blue eyes. "Are they okay? Are you okay?"

Midge raises her eyebrows when he starts to sing, but a little smile of amusement plays at her lips. He has a nice voice and his lyrics are, admittedly, funny. Of course, the officer with no sense of humor doesn’t find it amusing.

“You’re a bard?” she asks. “I didn’t think we had bards anymore.” Kind of old-fashioned, but not unheard of anymore, at least when it comes to singing about the feats of the magical folks.

His outrage is surprising at first, but then Midge has a revelation. “Oh, now I recognize you,” she says. “I’ve seen you around. Backstage.” If he’s seen one of her sets during the show, he didn’t recognize her here. “I think we’re all okay. Just annoyed.” Maybe she’s speaking for herself.

“Why are you here?” He clearly wasn’t at the club tonight if he didn’t know about the raid.

“Susie’s a bulldog,” Midge replies. “She probably wants me to get bumped so that she can punch the guy.”

They chat for a few more minutes, then Susie wanders off. She probably won’t stay for too much longer.

“She’s not one for small talk,” Midge tells Alfred, “but she really believes in me.”

"And you're the comedian." His voice is softer this time, less flirty. Just a fellow artist who understands what she's going through and wants to connect. "The girls spoke highly of you."

He sighs with relief when he hears that everyone is fine, but he can't help staring at the corridor for a few seconds. Geralt better get here fast, because Jaskier won't be the only one he'll be bailing out tonight. Yennefer has sold enough potions and charms, he thinks, to cover the money needed for all the girls. And if not, well... he'll find a way.

"Allow me to start over." He bows for her with all the flourish of someone who has sung at many courts. "Jaskier of Oxenfurt. Bard, musician, poet, chronicler - and not from this world." Which explains why he is a bard in a world that doesn't have many.

If she works at The Wolford and has been censored for talking too much, he thinks she won't be a very judgmental person and won't mind the otherworlders. But one can never know for certain, so he waits a second to be sure she's fine with this before continuing.

"As for why I am here..." A shrug. "Heckler didn't like my song. I told him exactly where he could insert his opinion."

That's a huge simplification of what actually happened but hey, he has a silver tongue for a reason.

"I like her." He says, looking after Susie as she walks through the party and towards the snacks.

"She's tough but I can tell she loves you. That's important."

Leaning in he kisses her cheek, "Plus she didn't punch me so I think it went well."

It’s actually not that surprising to her when Jaskier tells her he’s an Otherworlder. Ever since the magician-scientists here discovered that they could open up portals to other worlds during the war, people have been arriving randomly every now and then. They still can’t control it, and people here still can’t get one to stay open long enough for them to travel to different worlds. It’s a one way trip to Earth, basically. She hopes this guy is happy here, because there’s no going back, at least not right now.

Of course, people and creatures arriving from other worlds with no regulation is a huge national security risk. Usually, Otherworlders are detained and questioned, if they’re caught. Midge guesses that this guy and whoever came with him must have passed inspection, otherwise he might not be so open with her about him being an Otherworlder.

Personally, she’s fine with Otherworlders being here, as long as they’re living their lives and not trying to kill people or take over.

“Midge Maisel. Of the Upper West Side,” she replies. “Nice to meet you. Oh, I’ve done that before.”

Hecklers are part of the gig. Midge has to be able to handle them.

“I guess you haven’t seen my part of the show?” she asks. “Most men are just waiting for me to get off stage anyway.”

His brain immediately stops at the surname, but then he internally kicks himself - everyone has surnames here, no matter their social status. It was quite a shock to learn of this when he arrived, one of the many things he's had to get used to. He's proud of himself for already mentally doing the correction after a few months.

"Lady Midge. A pleasure." Since it seems they're on friendly grounds now, he dares to grab her hand to kiss it. Then he sits on the same bench as her, but makes sure to leave some room between them. Friendly grounds, sure, but he isn't pushing too far yet. Can't have her getting uncomfortable.

He laughs at her comment, but he also shakes his head. Audiences can be so frustrating and ungrateful. Fuckers.

"Many a man don't understand that beauty comes in all forms." He leans back against the wall, stretching his legs in the process. "To be fair, I haven't watched the girls 'dance' either," he adds while gesturing the quotation marks. "There's a reason you've seen me backstage: I've been hunting for work. The prosperous career I had at home doesn't exist here, not yet anyway. It's like I'm eighteen again, hunting for a stage that will have me."

Midge raises a quizzical eyebrow at him when he calls her ‘Lady Midge’. She allows him to kiss her hand and only betrays a little smirk at her amusement. He’s laying it on really thick, but it’s kind of endearing. Maybe women really respond to this kind of thing where he comes from.

Of course he sits down next to her. Was that whole thing an elaborate show to conveniently move to her side of the cell? Jaskier keeps out of her personal space though, which she appreciates. He’s not unattractive, but they’re in probably the least sexy place imaginable.

“They’re actually really good,” Midge tells him. “Some of them can do some really incredible stuff. They just happen to do it with their tops off.” That’s the sticking point for many a conservative. “I know the feeling. I’ve been doing this for about two years and it still feels like an uphill battle sometimes.”

“You were your charming self,” Midge replies. A moment later, something clicks for her. “You were trying to throw her off by asking her about dating, weren’t you?”

So sneaky, Alfred.

"I was." He admits, "I didn't think now was the time to be discussing my previous relationships."

He laughs again, this time at her comment about the tops. When he realizes how many little amusing comments she's thrown so far, he regrets not having watched her act before. If this is her talking casually, she must be a blast on the stage.

"Oh, they're definitely very talented," he responds with just enough innuendo to make it sound teasing but not crossing the line into pushing too far. Midge hasn't moved away from him or cleaned her hand, so it's a good start. Jaskier isn't sure how much the girls have talked about the -ahem- extracurricular activities they do with him, so better keep it at that.

He nods at the mention of a battle, eyes staring at the ceiling as he remembers the early days of camping with a grumpy witcher who only said one word every four hours. "A battle against other artists, the audience, stage owners, the critics, the law, society's expectations, creativity, and even yourself. Not exactly a fair fight, now is it?"

When he looks down again, he can't help staring at her for a few seconds, curiosity written in his eyes. "It's brave of you to stick to The Wolford, however. Many a person would be afraid of what it could do to their reputation. I respect that."

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credit of that song to Deerstalker Pictures

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