2024.08.24: Introduction of Gavin Sheridan

Lizzy is in her normal place behind the bar. This is like saying the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. However, she seems a bit... off, for those who watch her with any sort of closeness. She looks a little paler than usual, perhaps a little drawn. She's moving a touch slower. And there are dark circles under her eyes, the hallmark of exhaustion. For those who saw her two days prior, this is a sharp departure. For those who saw her the night before... well, that's the thing. No one did see her the night before.

Marcus walks into the bar and smiles at the woman behind it. As he approaches, concern creases his eyes. "Lizzy, are you well?"

Lizzy looks up. "...huh? Oh. Hey baby." She smiles softly at Marcus. "I'm... I'm just a little drained, is all." She looks him right in the eyes. "Nothin' a good night's rest, a steak, and a spinach salad won't fix. Promise."

He smiles. "Well, I can fix you the steak and salad after work, if you'd like." He sounds concerned, but puts on a smile for the young woman."

"After my shift?" Lizzy asks. "It's important that things continue as they should here. That was... that was rather keenly impressed upon me last night."

He nods "Of course." He looks. "Impressed by whom?"

"She never gave me her name. Brown hair. Lots of curls. Green eyes. French. She wasn't mean to me, but, like..." Lizzy frowns, trying to find the words. She then sighs. "...ever feel like someone was lookin' at you like a particularly interestin' insect they just pinned to a board?"

He nods, knowingly. "I believe I know the woman of whom you speak - it has been some time since I've seen her."

"I'd never seen her before in my life, and yet... like... I was compelled to go find her. Seek her out. Apparently she's in the opera. It's like she knew I'd be comin'. She welcomed me like an old friend. Asked about my life an' how things were goin'... but it didn't seem right. Too pale, like Doris gets when she's not tryin'."

Marcus laughs. "Lizzy, darling, you met Doris' grandmother."

"Wait... she didn't look that old..." Lizzy looks confused.

"Lizzy, early in my time in Montreal, we celebrated the 1,000th birthday of a local dignitary. I know of at least one member of my clan who was a Legionnaire under the Roman Eagle. When we are turned, we do not age, in the conventional sense - though in many cases our souls age all the more. I do not know how old Madame la Tonnerre is."
He does not mention Doris' age

"Mmkay..." She frowns. "I guess I thought y'all would have a different term for relations an' such."

"Well technically, the term is "Sire" and "Childe" - but Doris always refers to her as "grandmamma" - almost endearingly."

"Huh. Okay." Lizzy frowns. "Didn't seem all that grandmotherly to me. Like, she asked a lot of questions about me and what I wanted, but I didn't get the sense that she was askin' outta vested interest, if that makes sense?"

"I need to speak with her while she is in town." A nod. "But yes, that makes sense."

"I suspect you know how to get a hold of her, cuz, like, she didn't give me contact info or anything."

He nods, contemplating. "I do. And Doris certainly does." He takes her hand across the bar and presses it to his lips. "Darling, it is good to see you."

Lizzy squeezes his hand, reaching out to brush her fingers across his face. Her hands are a bit chilly, likely due to poor perspiration. "I know you've been workin' hard. Good to see you too."

He looks up at her - concerned now. "Darling, are you sure you're well?"

"I promise you, I'm fine. I didn't drink anything she gave me."

He looks at her, carefully, and nods, smiling warmly. "Okay. I'll bring you back to my place after work for that steak?" He turns and pulls his phone from his pocket, sending a text.

"Sounds lovely." She blows him a kiss.

He blows back, and smiles. "One Manhattan for the lonely pianist?"

"Of course, darlin'. And you're not as lonely as you think." She starts pouring his drink, just the way he likes it now, complete with slightly squished cherry.

He takes a sip, smiles again "Perfect, darling." and wanders towards the piano.

"Marcus..." Lizzy murmurs, in a somewhat questioning tone, perhaps with a tinge of dread.

Gavin enters in a tired pair of jeans and a bowling shirt, hair a mop of brown locks, his main attempt at at least semi-smart attire a pair of comfortable brown shoes. “So,” he says in a vaguely English accent, “would it be the most cliche question in the world to ask if this is the Blue Devil? Or, given the sign and that rather expensive piano, just the most pointless? Because honestly, I can go for both records. I’m not fussy.”

"Both." Lizzy answers, her attention diverted for the moment, probably to Marcus' benefit. "Both is good. C'mon in an' pull up a seat. Whatcha drinkin'?" She smiles warmly at the newcomer. For her part, Lizzy is in one of the standard wiggle dresses she wears when behind the bar. The red makes her skin look that much paler.

Gav makes a little fist in triumph and saddles over. “Uh... ooh. I’m going to go with...” he points. “Let’s go with the brown one. No! Wait. The suspiciously expensive-looking golden one. This is a classy place.”

"You're gonna have to narrow it down, sugar." She turns around to examine all the bottles that fit this description. "I've got the suspiciously expensive-looking golden one in a squat bottle with a red label, the suspiciously expensive-looking golden one in a squat bottle with a BLACK label, the suspiciously expensive-looking golden one in a tall bottle, and finally, the suspiciously expensive-looking golden one in a bottle explicitly shaped like Thor's hammer."

“If in doubt, go with the God of Thunder?”

"Sold." Lizzy slaps the bar with the palm of her hand and grabs the bottle. "Neat or on the rocks?"

“Neat. Smoother. And also I don’t want to be clinking up the place while dulcet tones drift mellifluously by. It’s rude, y’know?”

"I'm sure tonight's piano player would agree, though he don't always stand on propriety." She grins wickedly at Marcus. Her voice has that native Texas twang.

“Well, who does?” Gavin smiles. “I don’t suppose you could point me in the direction of Ms Ashview? I understand this is a required port of call for new arrivals.”

Marcus heard the comment, and grins back at Lizzy, blowing her a kiss from the Piano. "Highland Park Thor neat? I might just join you for that. Lizzy is right, I don't stand on propriety too often, but some things are worth standing on."

Gavin turns to the newcomer. “Well, as the God himself would say: Let’s get hammered!” He offers a hand to both. “Gavin Sheridan.”

"Lizzy. A pleasure." She beams, taking the offered hand by reaching over the bar. She then pours two Thors, neat.

Gav gives a little look into the glass. “Well, I’m sure I will regret this later. But... life was too short.”

Marcus joins them and offers his hand to Gavin. "He would say that indeed."

Lizzy raises an eyebrow at Gavin's commentary, then glances at Marcus.

Into this slightly confusing moment pads the mistress of the establishment. Her auburn hair is messily piled on top of her head, haphazardly pinned. Jarringly to those who know her, the fastidious 1930s aesthetic has been set aside in favor of a palette-swapped Stevie Nicks- all burnt oranges and burgundies and browns instead of black. Her feet are bare...and slightly dirty. She nods distractedly at the group by the bar and drifts to her table.

Gavin gives Marcus’ hand a quick shake, then turns to the glass. “But, new city. New Albion. New life, right? I was born in old Albion. I’ve visited a lot of other Albions. I’ve even watched West Bromwich Albion. But New Albion sounds... clean. So, to new lives.”

"And how are you called, then?" The softest hint of brogue in the otherwise southwestern Ohio nonaccent.

Gavin turns to the lady. “Gavin Sheridan, miss. Though Sheridan works most of the time.” He sets the glass down before drinking. “I heard an old friend was in town. And that makes it as good a home as any other. I was just told this would be the place to start for making friends and introductions. Plus I’m a sucker for a little music.”

"Doris Ashview. I answer to several names and titles. While my accompanist finishes his drink, I could sing a capella. If you would like." There is no offer of handshake and the odd sense that this is not out of rudeness.

“I’m sure I would. Although I’d never tell an artist when or what to sing. That comes from the soul.” Gav looks a little sad for a moment, but smiles. “If I used the wrong title I apologise. As I said, I’m new. Fresh of a jet plane. You know the song “Midnight Train to Georgia” was originally “Midnight Plane to Houston”? I was a little sad my flight wasn’t delayed, that would have been a fun parallel.”

"Kiss me and smile for me..." Without prompting, hauntingly perfect. Then she stops.

Gavin stops, eyes a little wide, smile dropped in sincerity. “I’ve come to the right place,” he says quietly.

Lizzy looks back and forth between the two of them, raising an eyebrow

Doris tips her head to one side. "Have you?"

“Usually I’m more a fan of Prince for a first song. It’s a tradition. But... I was told you’d be willing to direct me. Call it a boon.”

"That all depends on what sort of direction you require, Sheridan." There is the strange sense she is listening to more than one thing. The expat and...something else. Something nobody else is hearing.

“An introduction. A lay of the land. But right now... I heard you could sing. And I’ve heard a lot of singers, and a lot of songs. But, here right now? You have gift, m’am. I have to admit that nothing compares to you.”

The ghost of a smile curls the auburn-haired woman's lips. "You have not heard my grandmother."

“I’m sure.” He smiles.

Doris then proceeds to sing the referenced song, without warmup or any other preparations. It is technically perfect, but, perhaps out of sensitivity to the emotional content, slightly flat for her. As if there is a dimension she could add but chooses not to. The newcomer might not notice.

He listens, finger on the rim of his glass. Thinking a moment.

Silence fills the space once the last notes fade.

A smile, soft and sincere, plays on his lips. Although it’s not done through a lack of respect, the opposite. He is showing how the song affected him rather than drowning out her subtle notes in applause.

She spreads her hands to either side, accepting the mute accolade.

“Thank you,” he says. “I think I’ll like it here. It seems like a good place to let the hours flow until dawn.”

"I try to keep things pleasant. I have good staff to assist."

“Well, do let me know if there’s anything I can do to assist. As I say, There’s a little question of hospitality, but I intend to settle here. At least for the time being. I’m sure I’ll be a regular.”

Lizzy puts two and two together, then frowns. "There's gotta be a better way to ID this shit."

Sheridan’s head turns. “I have this party trick where I can hold my breath a super long time if that helps?”

"I can let Mister Gordon know you are here. I need to speak with him anyway."

Marcus finishes his drink, watching the two kindred chat. "Do you two know each other as well?" The question is asked to either, or both.

“I’d appreciate that, m’am. Thank you.” Sheridan’s head turns to Marcus. “And no. I think there’s only one person I know in town. But I try and play by the rules, so I made a few enquiries as to where to go before I touched down.”

Doris shrugs lightly.

A nod. "Well, welcome - and nice to meet you."

"This is a good place for meetings." Doris is still being subtle. "Who is it that has drawn you to this place? Additionally, to whom should I direct you for day-to-day concerns?"

Sheridan smiles a little. “New city, new life. I used to know a girl a long time ago. Pretty close. But... then I started going out all night, while she headed off to university. I was looking her up a while ago, saw her as a big shot Executive now, and I thought...” he smiles. “I’ve no idea what I thought. But I’m here now. And I’ll do what I can to help make this place the best it can be.”

He chews over the latter question. “As for day to day... I guess someone who doesn’t mind looking at a face that can crack a mirror.” He gestures to himself, smiling.

"Your face is not as bad as all that. I shall let Doctor Pendleton know he will have another intake interview." Doris nods thoughtfully. "There is wisdom in shattered reflections."

“It just gets a little distorted from time to time.” Sheridan gives an apologetic shrug. “Not anything to be too concerned about, though.”

"Your relations have been incredibly helpful to me. I anticipate nothing less from you." Another faint smile.

Sheridan nods. “I’ll aim to impress. I appreciate this is a minor matter, but do please make sure it’s noted. It’s kind of you to take the time.” He picks up the Thor, and finally finishes it.

"I will bring whatever is necessary to the attention of the proper authorities."

A nod. “Then I best not take up more of your - or your piano player’s - time.” He rifles into his pocket and produces a beaten canvas wallet to pay for the drink.

"Please. Stay and enjoy the evening." Polite invitation.

There is a friendly smile from the pianist in the direction of the newcomer as he rises and moves back towards his usual station. "Yes, do. While I find the company of both these women intoxicating, playing to a near-empty bar is just sad, really." A grin first across the bar towards Lizzy, and then to Doris.

He nods. “I could do with unwinding a little after the flight,” he concedes. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about jazz, but I suspect I don’t need to.”

"We do more than just jazz..." An enigmatic smile, and Doris pads towards the stage in a rustle of skirts.

Marcus grins and whispers something in the Siren's ear.

She smirks, then whispers back. The set of her face suggests slightly condescending yet affectionate scorn.

He nods quietly, briefly, and turns to look at the newcomer, with one eyebrow cocked and a grin. "Jazz, huh?" as he steps to his seat and warms up with a couple of scales - allowing Doris time to get to her place on stage.

Soft patter of bare feet against the wood and the hiss of skirts brushing the stage. There is something slightly wild about her tonight, a restlessness and impatience.

A few chords in a minor key set the tempo before a quick series of broken patterns that almost - but not quite - sounds like a eighties dance eight-count are layered over the top.

The newcomer’s eyes close a little, as if the long lost memory of sleep has gripped them for a moment, simulated breathes sucking in needless air as he lets the music wash over.

"This bloody road remains a mystery/This sudden darkness fills the air/What are we waiting for?/Won't anybody help us?/What are we waiting for?" No microphone. The restless intensity transfers to her voice. Even though she was born well before the advent of radio and the current definition of pop music, the little Siren's voice seems uniquely suited to the genre. She keeps time with one heel, marking out the downbeat.

Sheridan’s eyes stay closed tight, a little sadness tightening in the sides of the smile.

As the Siren begins the chorus, Marcus departs from the traditional sound of the the song and begins to cascade up the keyboard.

Doris' voice is the anchor for Marcus' improvisation, offering something for the listeners to follow. There is a ferocity and an edge to her delivery. "We can't afford to be innocent/Stand up and face the enemy/It's a do or die situation/We will be invincible."

As her voice soars at the end of the chorus, the width of his playing collapses into his earlier riff at the beginning of the song.

Second verse. The intensity increases, the relative stillness thus far broken as she punctuates the lyrics with tightly controlled gestures, slightly jerky. "This shattered dream you cannot justify/We're gonna scream until we're satisfied/What are we running for?/We've got the right to be angry/What are we running for?/When there's no where we can run to anymore..."

Another soaring chorus, both hands rising up the keyboard this time rather than taking the wider shape of the first run.

Further intensity, her hands curling into fists."We can't afford to be innocent/Stand up and face the enemy/It's a do or die situation/We will be invincible." A minimal pause, a clear calculation. Then: "And with the power of conviction/This is my sacrifice/It's a do or die situation/We will be invincible." A subtle shift in lyrics. Almost undetectable.

Gavin’s eyes open to watch the performance, although he doesn’t stir otherwise.

Marcus catches the line, and there is a tiny jar - Doris will certainly pick up on the error. Maybe the others won't.

There is no indication from the singer that the fractional stumble was noticed. She continues on, letting the Song and the portion of it being manifested at this moment fill her awareness.

Lizzy is a bit uneasy behind the bar, but she seems to be working through it.

Marcus glances briefly at Lizzy and flashes her a smile as he moves in to finish the last chorus with a flourish - making up for the previous stumble.

Doris wraps up the song with the same raw intensity kicked up by the bridge and her impromptu ad lib. Her eyes have closed, shutting out the audience.

As the Siren finishes, Marcus'head hangs a moment, before he rises and saunters towards Lizzy at the bar. As he passes Gavin, he grins and simply asks "Jazz, eh?"

Gavin claps his hands slowly. “You shouldn’t be playing to a solo crowd,” he says. “Either of you.”

Doris waves a hand vaguely at the staff and a few other lightly occupied tables. "Hardly solo."

“Perhaps it just felt that way,” Gavin mutters quietly, as if the thought should have stayed locked away in his head.

There is a smile, and a slight bow. "Thank you."

"If what you heard resonated, then I did my job." She smiles, a slightly brittle and sad sort of smile. Then, she continues her set, keeping in the mood with an acapella rendition of Bastille's "Pompeii."

Gavin opens up his phone, and looks deep at something on it. Then, in silence, he repeats the song’s lyrics like the chorus of a Greek tragedy. “Oh where do we begin, the rubble or our sins?” The phone goes back in the pocket. Just another lost visitor to the world’s latest wonder city.

Doris does not seem to be singing to Gavin directly, but rather to someone not present. Or perhaps more than one person. It is difficult to tell: her gaze is somewhere in the middle distance. From there, she switches eras again: Barry McGuire's "Eve of Destruction."

Marcus is not at his piano, but at the bar with Gavin and Lizzy - as ever transfixed by the Siren's song.

"She's got eclectic taste," Gavin says to Marcus. "You didn't tell me your name. Or at least, how you'd prefer to be addressed. Not always the same thing."

Marcus extends his hand a moment - somewhat sheepishly. "Marcus Antoninus - nice to meet you, Mr. Sheridan." He grins at the performance "And she certainly does at that."

Gavin shakes. "Pleasure. I have to admit this is rather new. Usually when you turn up in a city, some crowds are part of the furniture. Feel like they've been around centuries. Here... well. This is all new, isn't it?"

"Most of it - certainly most of us - haven't been here for that long. It gives the place some life, that's for sure."

"Used to be that most places were more... well. You know what it used to be like. I suppose the last 20 years have shaken that up a little. And not for the better."

Marcus laughs out loud at this comment. "I am sorry, Mr. Sheridan - I am afraid you are sorely mistaken in that assessment."

Sheridan smiles. "How so?"

...the china doll jukebox continues...

"I have not quite made my twentieth name-date, Mr. Sheridan." A smile.

Sheridan laughs at his own idiocy. "My apologies. Don't get a lot of Latinate names in the 21st century. I guess I'm a little older than a I look, so I presume other people are, too."

As if to twit the boys at the bar, the singer slides effortlessly from something in the current Billboard top ten to something that has not been considered popular music since the turn of two centuries ago. There is a quickly stifled cheer from the crowd.

"Please - no apologies are necessary." A quick look at the stage is followed by a chuckle

He shrugs. "Well, bagsey no take-backs. Another drink?"

A glance towards Lizzy and a grin. "Well, I wouldn't say no to that."

Lizzy smiles at the two men. "Sure thing." And she gets to doing it. Pouring drinks neat is not terribly interesting work, but she does it with at least some modicum of care.

“Thanks, Miss. It’s a shame we’re only subtropical; you have to reach a certain level of full-on tropical before you can crack out the frosted glasses, rum punch and little fruit next to umbrellas and a twirly straw.”
“Also I’m not sure you should be allowed to drink a cocktail wearing jeans. And I don’t have anything suitable to change into for a little carnivale.”

"I'ma call bullshit on that. I drink cocktails in jeans all the time." Lizzy smirks.

“Well,” Gavin leans over the bar, “just because you do it doesn’t mean it’s allowed. And just because it’s not allowed doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it.” He winks, rather pleased he manages to land a triple negative that actually makes grammatical sense.

There is a suspicious amount of quiet. Then, conversationally: "Do you do anything useful with that mouth or is it just for silly remarks?"

Gavin turns around, thinking for a moment. “Depends what you consider useful.”

She is surprisingly short, all of 5'2", but she takes up a lot of space. It does not seem to be any sort of power of the blood, either. "I suppose it does."

Gavin smiles, his statement easy, not designed to aggravate but equally not backing down. “So what would you like my mouth to do at present?”

"Nothing in particular. Just curiosity." She reaches across the bar to select a tiny paper umbrella, then opens it and puts it into Sheridan's drink.

“Sheridan. Gavin Sheridan,” he says in his most ridiculous Sean Connery. “And if you want to sate your curiosity, I’ve got no real plans tonight. Yet.”

A lofted eyebrow. "Yet?"

There is a snicker directed from Marcus to Lizzy at this exchange.

Lizzy raises an eyebrow with an amused smirk.

“My first order of business was tradition: let the right people know I’m here. And once that’s dealt with, assuming I’m not going to have a meeting with the boss tonight, then I’m at leisure. There’s a whole, big city to see. And there’s always something to do or something to learn. I only get bored if I want to be bored.” He blows the umbrella around the glass, air propelling it like a sail. “Right now, I’ll see where the winds take me.”

"What an unusual young man you are. It is rare people are able to entertain themselves."

"Sometimes you just need to see things from a different perspective. Uh, miss...?"

"Have you forgotten already?"

"No. I just don't know if 'miss' is right. It suddenly occurred to me that it's a bit presumptuous."

"There has never been a 'Mister' Ashview, if that is what you are asking."

Gavin laughs. "Not exactly. I just know how touchy some people can be about getting terms right. Once knew a guy who insisted on being called - and I wish I was making this up - the Grand Poobah. 'Yes, Grand Poobah.' 'No, Grand Poobah.' Took the wind out of his sails when everyone found out his name was Fred and he was still living with his mother."
"Oh. Do you want all of them or just the current one?" The idea of a recitation of titles adds a specific flatness to her voice.
Gavin holds his hand up in surrender, and allows his tongue to click as he takes in a breath, and looks at her plainly. "Miss Ashview, I like this place. When you sing, I don't think have to think. I like not thinking sometimes. And I have a feeling your voice can inspire some great or terrible things, so I'd rather have you as a friend than an enemy. I don't need the boring stuff. I just want to know the best way I can say good evening."

"'Miss Ashview' is more than sufficient." Gently.

Gavin nods. "Then Miss Ashview, I'll be blunt. I trick. And I con. And I spy. Sometimes, I see things others can't. Sometimes others can't see me. If you need my mouth for anything like that, then you and the city have it. But if you were asking me to sing... trust me that's not something anyone here wants to suffer." He takes a swig of his neat alcohol, catching the umbrella in his teeth, pinching his lips and twirling his tongue to make it spin.

"I just might have use for a clever lad like you..." Thoughtful.

“Oh?” The umbrella is set back in the glass.

"There are several irregularities that have come to light, and I need an independent contractor to evaluate them...or at least gather me enough information to allow me to more clearly discern the pattern of misbehavior." Doris shrugs. "Sound like something in your wheelhouse?"

Now a more meaningful glance is shot from Marcus to Doris, and with a flick of his hand, a plain white business card appears in Marcus' hand and is passed to Gavin.

“I should think so,” Gavin says, as he plucks the card and slips it into his jeans.

"Mister Antoninus is both my personal agent in all of this as well as an agent of the crown." Odd way of putting it, but there is enough Brit in this conversation to make it just a turn of phrase.

"I prefer to deal with things behind the security of a firewall. Preferably one I specced and built myself - but I provide intelligence and creative problem solving to both the Crown, and to Ms. Ashview."

“Sounds like we should get along famously. We details here?”

"You may speak freely."

“What are the irregularities and where? Any potential suspects? And is time a factor?”

"Time is always a factor, Mr. Sheridan. Come by my office tomorrow evening and I can give you a partial debrief - Ms. Ashview, perhaps you should join us?"

"If I have no other meetings."

Gavin nods. “Tomorrow evening, then. And on that note, I really should find a place to lay my head. Grab a bite.”

"You may avail yourself of the resources in the entertainment district that are not coffee shop or lab employees."

"Nobody here either."

Lizzy flinches a little at that.

"I wouldn't be so vulgar. Do let me know if the boss wants to see me." Gavin rises. "Until tomorrow," he says to Marcus, and gives Doris a nod. He does fish out a handful of notes and slides them over to Lizzy. "That should cover it." He takes a few steps, and mutters something very quiet under his breath before slipping out into the waiting blanket of night.

"I shall." There is a sense that Doris' attention is elsewhere a moment. Then: "He seems like a nice boy."

Lizzy takes the money, does a quick bit of mental math and nods. "Thank you kindly. This'll do."