The Singer (open)

[tessa]

Tessa had only been living in Tropico for a few months. She knew no one, but had already found herself a job and a place to live on her own. Sure, she wasn't rich, but it could have been a lot worse considering. She was eager to start working, well, singing. Her mother was a singer, and at first, Tessa didn't think much of it, but when people kept telling her that she was very good, she started singing more often. It was until her teenage years that she realized that she really enjoyed herself while she was singing.

She was surprised when she got the gig at the bar. It wasn't glamorous, but she didn't really care. It was something new and exciting and it paid pretty well, she felt. It was the sort of atmosphere that she felt she belonged in. There was too much of a rough crowd, and no one seemed to give her a hard time. The sun was already setting by the time she walked into the bar. A few of the regulars were already there. She merely smiled and waved at those who spoke to her before walking up to the stage, readying herself.

She looked around again, just waiting for the band to ready itself. She didn't really think she meshed well with them, as they were more jazz influenced, and she wanted to go rock most of the time. She just dealt with it, always hoping for someone to take note of her and brisk her away somewhere. Regardless, the band was now ready and she cleared her throat. Tonight, it was original songs only. She looked at the bass player as he counted her in before she started singing.

The crowd was mildly interested of course, but they were also polite, not jeering her or the band on. She went through the first five songs before they took a break. Tessa jumped off stage and sat down at the bar, not really sure if she wanted to drink or not. She looked at the crowd again, wondering if any of them could play the kind of music she wanted to sing.

[paul]

Paul had been in the bar for the bulk of the day. What else was there to do on a sunday? Not that bars and pubs were even supposed to be open on a sunday, but in the five years that he'd lived here he quickly came to learn that Tropico had a habit of doing and running things differently. He certainly wasn't complaining about it, though. It was either this or sit at home and stare at the wall (damn you television for breaking again). He would've left earlier, but the poster hammered to one of the wooden pillars by the entrance to the bar had caught his attention. There was usually a band or singer performing at the bar, but tonight's he didn't recognise. Perhaps they were new, or were just a group of artists performing together for one night, or he was just really not very observant and they in fact had been around for quite a whle- which one it was he had no idea. So curiosity forced him to wait and see.

Paul himself was a musician. He and a group of his buddies formed a band when they were in high school, though they never wrote their own songs, not really planning on going big one day. They instead performed at their school from time to time, or other cheap venues, playing covers from well-known rock groups from the 60s, 70s and 80s. Then he moved here and hasn't played in a band since. Alright well, he had, but not with one that he was actually a member of. He would just randomly be asked from time to time if he could stand in for the missing guitarist, or if he knew how to play because they didn't exactly have a one.

Finally his long-lost beer arrived. Geez. Paul hastily took a gulp and put the mug back on the counter, stealing a quick glance at his wristwatch; it was nearly time for the band to go up. He absent-mindedly began drumming "Ziggy Stardust" on the barcounter with his fingertips until a noise coming from the stage, like someone taking hold of the mic, drew his attention. He swivelled round in his seat. An interesting assembly, he thought. Then the band started up and the entire bar and probably most of the surrounding areas was engulfed in... jazz. Paul hadn't really expected that. Still, it was a refreshing change. He personally wasn't that big on the jazz scene, but he didn't dislike it. There were a lot of really great jazz artists out there, inspired by legends like Miles Davis and Duke Ellington, even Frank Zappa. He thought the band was performing quite well, actually. And the crowd seemed to be enjoying itself, which was always a good thing.

After about five songs they took a break, and the singer at down at the bar next to him. This was a girl who could sing, he thought. But she couldn't seem to make up her mind whether or not she wanted a drink, so he decided to help her along. Bars are meant to be drank at, end of story, and we as humans must fill the void (excuse the pun). Hi! I'm Paul. he smiled, extending a hand to her in greeting. I don't quite recall seeing you here before, have you been in Tropico long?

[tessa]

Tessa just turned her head back at the stage. It was something she loved doing, but she also felt a tad unfulfilled at the same time. Maybe it was due to the fact that she wasn't really singing what she wanted to sing, or wasn't really doing what she wanted to do, whatever that was. She sighed again, looking back down at the table. She hadn't noticed who she was sitting next to. Her mind was on a variety of different things. She loved living here in Tropico. It was very laid back and she wasn't as stressed out as she used to be.

When a strange voice started talking to her, she turned her head casually and her dark brown eyes opened widely. She studied the man over, wondering what he was all about. She merely smiled warmly at him. She still had to get use to the fact that people were much more friendly down here than back home in New York. He offered to shake her hand at which she just smiled again.

"Nice to meet you Paul. I'm Tessa." She shook his hand before gazing up at the ceiling. There really wasn't anything on her mind. She just had a habit of wandering off in different directions. Then he asked her a question to which she replied, "No, actually, I've only been here a couple of months. Can't ya tell?" She asked him with her heavy Brooklyn accent in between a few laughs.

She studied the man over again before she asked him, "Are you a musician?" Her head was now resting on her right arm, which was turn resting on the counter. She had noticed him in the bar once before, but she wasn't singing that day and he seemed far too into a conversation for her to interrupt.