Apr 14 20:34:46 106 PA

From Chronicles

The evening has passed without major incident, and the club has fallen into its routine now. The staff know their jobs, the bar staff and security managed well beneath the leaders of those domains, leaving Aimee free to sing and socialise with the clients as much as she needs to. She is now, in the peace of the closed bar, idly flicking through other songs, her face thoughtful as she considers each piece for inclusion in her show. Her little black dress is made of heavy silk tonight, and her heels are high ones. Her hair is lifted up into a twisted style that leaves curls piled on the top of her head, one or two falling down to brush against her cheeks.

Desmond has taken a more hands off approach as well, though he does tend to oversee things silently periodically, making his times here a bit more random, though far from uncommon. With the place closed, he sits at one of the tables near to the stage. He's considering a log book kept by security, noting suspect and blacklisted persons. Several of the former, not so many of the latter. Committing names and what faces there are noted to memory slowly. Though such dreary work is, at intervals, interrupted as his eyes lift to regard Aimee from time to time. Also not uncommon.

At one of those intervals, she returns the gaze, her mouth curving into a wide smile. Her eyes soften as her face takes on the look that is purely kept for him. "Mon chat, sing with me?" She calls over, her voice carrying in the peace of the quiet bar. "If we practice, perhaps we can do a duet to surprise Kesslan, and that would be amusing, non?" She turns to the papers, seeking out the one she wants for them, and holding it out to him questioningly. "A surprise for mon minet, non?"

Of course, when she catches Desmond in a look, it lingers. No blushing boy this. Though there is a light sense of reluctance when she asks him to sing with her. He's made no secret of his thoughts on the matter, despite the prior periods of practice. Not too confident in his ability. But like every other time, that light reluctance is brushed aside. "What surprise is this?" Asked as he closes the logbook and rises from his seat to approach where Aimee peruses the possibilities.

"Well, next time he is here on the night I sing, we can sing a song together for him, and that will surprise him, non?" She holds out the paper she is considering. "Do you want something romantic, or sweet, or funny perhaps? There is perhaps this one." The one she holds out is one he would have heard at home, a duet about it being cold outside, and the man persuading her to stay. "I think, me, it would amuse our minet." She watches his face, seeing the reluctance but seeing it pushed aside for her, and her smile warms.

Desmond's brow furrows as she asks him about possibilities. Music has yet to be something he's delved into, so focused on art and cooking as he tends to be in the now. Presented with one such possibility, he takes the paper held out to him, quietly studying it for a few moments before he offers, "This one seems favorable." His eyes lift from the page to meet her own. "I will admit.. my knowledge of songs is not broad."

He is rewarded for his agreement with a kiss. She leans in to deliver it, deliberately teasingly before she pulls away. Her eyes are dancing, this moment with the two of them relaxing her after the day's work. "Then here we shall go..." She murmurs softly, turning to put on the backing track to the song. It is a lazy beat, cheerful and relaxed, with a hint of jazz in the piano and the brass. She turns to Desmond, nodding her head in time to the music. She sings the first line, "I really can't stay..."

The kiss seems to fortify the big cat somewhat. And lead to an armored hand being sent behind her, coming to rest on her far hip as he pursues the pull back just a bit. Reluctant and uncertain, perhaps, but when the moment comes he girds up and focuses on the task at hand. Of course, a dry run of the song without having delved into it before will end up messy. Though the lyric sheet does a decent job of laying out the staggered nature of the song, Desmond has trouble neatly timing his end at first. And, of course, his focus on the attempt leaves his voice a bit flat as it was the first time he sang with her. A deep, rumbling speak of the song without artistic flourish. Though halfway through his recitation will tighten up a bit, hitting closer to his marks.

She shows no sign of the missed notes hurting the practiced ear and she rewards the tightening up with a warm smile and a nod, her hand reaching out to touch him lightly as they reach the end of the song. She returns the music to the start, setting it onto a loop but pauses it to softly offer some words of encouragement. "Mon chat, I think perhaps it will surprise him rather a lot, and you, you are learning fast." She leans in once more, rewarding him with another long kiss, deliberately pressing herself into him, her eyes dancing with teasing mischief. "And again, mon chat." And off they go.

Desmond is far less pleased with his performance in the initial run of the song, tangible enough in his expression. Though Aimee's seeming approval does soften this reaction just a bit, though not enough that it isn't obvious of him. "Perhaps," is the doubtful word offered before the kiss lands, the grip of his hand and the curl of his arm firming, the firmness lingering even after to keep her pressed into him just a bit. He nods when she says again. Expecting it. This time, when the singing starts, he'll begin with that better, though still imperfect timing. Refining it carefully over the time spent. Putting the real emotion into his singing remains a stumbling block, though given his nature it shouldn't be too surprising.

At the end, she pauses and considers the problem of emotion, her face thoughtful. "Mon chat... you remember when we were first together? Imagine this weather, and me visiting you, without a coat. And you, you are trying to persuade me to stay, oui?" She hits play, letting the music flow once more, and she sings the first line, watching him.

When Aimee urges him to consider the past as she once did, he meets the suggestion with a furrowed brow. The mental gear shift takes a few ticks for him to get in order, especially with the music coming again. But the presented path to take is trodden steadily. Thus at first he'll be as disjointed as the first run through. Ordering his thoughts whilst trying to keep time. Though towards the middle he tightens his timing back up, then slowly starts to toy with some emphasis in the tone given to his words. Perhaps a bit more firm than teasing as the song fits best with, but a step away from simply reciting. Though after this run through he will look to her and rumble. "This visualization you suggest.. it is a strange thing. To take feelings of the past and use them.." He pauses, not seeming sure where his thought ends up precisely on the issue.

She lifts one shoulder, a half shrug, an elegant gesture from her. "Oui, it is a thing for performers I think. If I sing a sad song, I think of a sad time, and oui, if I sing of love, I think about you, so the feelings are there in the music." She returns the music once more to the beginning, pauses it and hesitates for a moment. "The man, he is trying to persuade her to stay the night, using the weather as an excuse. She wants to be persuaded, but her family, they will talk..." She offers the thoughts softly, before pressing play. "I really can't stay..." The look she gives him is teasing, tempting him into persuading her.

"Just as the people talked," Desmond muses to her. As she starts up the music once more he closes his eyes and seeks to quiet himself within, save for certain thoughts. Certain remembrances. When she sings her first line, his eyes open and he looks at her. "..but baby it's cold outside.." Speaks to her in a careful, if still imperfect sing-song rumble. One of his better, which sets the tone for this try. He might step a little over the line, the intensity of his words a bit more than the whimsical song calls for, but he does his best.

She gives him a warm smile between her lines, "I've got to go away..." She walks a little away, glancing at him over her shoulder, deliberately teasing in the sway of her hips. The flirtatiousness that was there at the beginning of their relationship, the teasing as she taught him that she doesn't break is there in her green eyes. One eyebrow arches slightly and she rests a hand on her hip.

Desmond watches her take those steps, meeting the flirtatious shift of the singing with only the slightest of pauses. "..but baby it's cold out there.." Moving towards her, his hand reaching out for her hip once more. Those words spoken with that 'a bit too much' firmness. A soft demand of sorts. Though he has moved away from simply reciting as tends to be his default, even if he hasn't struck a proper balance.

The flirting continues and she turns into him, as if half persuaded. She leans into the touch, tilting her head back to look up at him through her lashes, "This evening has been..." Her voice has dropped to a husky note, a promise in her eyes. "Persuading, not demanding, mon chat." She murmurs softly between the lines. "Seducing, not pushing."

"..Been hoping that you'd drop in.." This one is easier for Desmond, his tone softening somewhat along the line of the words. And having her turn back towards him helps him settle into that feeling. His ears flick forward as she gives him direction, the advice heeded, she able to see in his eyes that his thoughts are rolling in response.

She turns fully towards him, singing to him as if there was nobody else in the room. "...So very nice." The feeling running beneath the word nice hints at all kinds of fun and teasing, and her green eyes dance in a way he will have seen so many times. "Better, mom chat... so much better." She murmurs the words of encouragement softly between her lines, breathless from the singing.

Thinking ahead, Desmond's touch shifts, lifting to clasp her hands in his as he rumbles to her, "I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice.." This too comes easier for him. Showing her his care is natural and though the potential richness of his slow maturing singing voice remains poorly mastered, a simple, pure feeling goes into those words, as easy as he would express such a thing in truth.

She gives him a look of approval, a firm nod and a smile before her face falls into that torn expression, as if she really is tempted to stay, "My mother will start to worry..." She offers, her voice souring, her hands in his. "Mon chat, that is so much better..."

Desmond starts to get into it a little despite himself. A little the lyrics that are so easy to say to her, part the approval it garners him. "Beautiful, what's your hurry?" He even passes his thumbs across the back of each hand, though the true effect of such a touch is likely lost with the armored gauntlets he has on. But the attempt is there.

A flicker of a giggle, her own feelings peeking through the performance for a moment before she leans into the touch, returning the touch of their hands, her own thumb rubbing lightly across the gauntlets. "My father will be pacing the floor..." She warns, a hint of the danger of an angry, righteous father in the words but the temptation to stay shows in her eyes and face.

Desmond remains steady.. focused. In a way, the song suits him in that, as his part is that of one who knows what he wants and pursues it. "Just listen to that fireplace roar.." Nudging past the argument, he keeps the softer tone that developed with the last two lines, his eyes remaining focused on her own. Though at the end of those words, he naturally glances to the side, where he might for the fireplace in their own abode. Though there isn't one there.

She is clearly tempted, if they had an audience they would see the wavering of decision. "So really I’d better scurry..." The words don't hold conviction and she doesn't move away, leaving her hands in his, her eyes returning his gaze. "Very good, mon chat..." The murmured encouragement does hold warm approval and she squeezes his hands, the gesture not impacting on the gauntlets.

Now that he's dropped into it, Desmond finds it easier to hold his role. The emotion coming easily enough, even if his voice has yet to truly refine. But there is potential there. His eyes return to her as he delivers the next line, the big cat leaning forward just slightly as he rumbles lowly, "Sweetheart, what's your hurry?" The questioning lilt fitting right in there.

And there is the wavering again, the tilting towards his pressure as she sings, conceding the point. "Maybe just a half a drink more..." Her face is warm, and softening towards his persuasion. "Really good, mon chat, Kesslan will be shocked at us..." She murmurs softly before she takes a breath to sing her next line.

Desmond naturally moves into the next lines now that he's settled into the right frame of mind, the tracks now laid out before him, as it were. Brushing aside the thoughts of others natural, for he's done it before. Speaking compliments intrinsic and easily done. The part about pride gains a little added firmness, but he doesn't break from the softer path that he settled into before, more a bump along the path than a deviation. Towards the end, as the last words of the song are spoken, he seems to realize what he's done.. still technically rough, his voice not yet true quality, but to dip so into a song, it seems to surprise him.

At the end, she does give him a slow kiss, rewarding him for his efforts. "Oui, see, you have it. I think a few more tries and you will be good at this..." She leans into him, the tiredness of the day hitting her finally and she tilts her head back to look up at him. "And so I think, me, we should go home and I will reward you for your efforts... and perhaps, if Kesslan is there, we can tease him about our surprise for him."

This, of course, meets with Desmond's silent approval and the kiss is returned with an added in squeeze from him, careful about his armored state. "I will admit, the song has grown upon me.. I shall have to practice this.. use of past events to find the proper tone." He releases her gently then. "I am still unsure of my skill at this, but I will continue to try." He pauses, then says, "I have been painting some.. but what I have yet to do is attempt a portrait of a person. I would like to attempt to paint you."

She leans back in his arms to look up at him, considering the words. "Your skill comes with practice, it is not something born always, it takes work." She shrugs lightly, and his suggestion of a portrait is met with a soft laugh. She tiptoes to press a kiss against his lips before pulling away, moving to clear her work away for the evening. "Perhaps! Why not? It may be amusing, non?" She shrugs lightly, giving consent easily and willingly. "What would you have me wear, mon chat?" That is a definite tease, with an arch of her eyebrow.

Desmond considers her tease, then answers honestly. "I will need to do a form study. You are the only one I could ask for such a thing. I did sketch Cali before for a study of the face, but it would not be proper to ask her for such a thing." There is a soft sense of amusement in his expression as he adds, "In the next few days, perhaps."

She talks softly, teasingly as she packs up and shuts down the club for the night. "Perhaps I shall wear nothing and let you have my form in its natural glory, mon chat..." She jumps from the stage, heading to turn down the lights and turn on the alarms. "I think, Kid's little friend would die of shock if you wished to draw her au naturel..." She calls over her shoulder, putting extra sway into her hips as she moves, deliberately teasing him.

Desmond goes about his own preparations, settling the log book back into it's secure alcove near the door and walking the common room slowly to do a last check for lurking stragglers or untoward items. The check's been done, but he scans the area nonetheless. Once all preparations are complete, he comes to her to meet her words. "It is possible. But I would not ask her even were that not the case. It isn't appropriate." He considers her for a moment before he rumbles, "I think many images of you shall I make.. in many states."

She laughs as she moves to curl an arm around his waist, drawing him towards the door, her coat in hand. "Many images, mon chat, in many states?" She murmurs softly, tilting a teasing look up at him. "Perhaps I shall get out one of my dancing outfits from the old days, and let you draw me in it...if you are good." At that she pulls away to pull on her coat over the dress, aware that it is indeed cold outside...

Desmond needs little encouragement to approach the door. He needs grab little in the way of possessions, having all of his on him when he's so geared and prepared. "Garb I have yet to see? That, of course, I would enjoy." Turning a bit more to face her as she's getting the coat on. "But to show me such an outfit without the dance.. it would be only half a delight." Meeting her tease in his own way.

She snuggles deeply into her coat, drawing the collar up as they step outside. "I could show you the dance, mon chat." The words are a promise and she gives him a look over her shoulder, the collar and the falling curls framing her face out in the street lights. "But I think you would have to perform that song in public, perhaps at a special evening... an opening for our talent show perhaps..." A challenge to meet his teasing.

Desmond moves up next to her as they move outside, the door locked up. Though her suggestion of him performing the song in public makes for an uncertain expression on his part. "I need more practice," he decides to say, bypassing an actual decision on the matter. "I think a painting of you would be easier," he notes, shifting the topic. "I do know your form better than any other. Though extensive first hand experience."

She curls her arm into his, hugging his to her as she looks up at him. "More practice, oui, but you will do it well soon." She is firm on that, a note in her voice mirroring his occasional tone. "Perhaps... you need more experience with that?" That is definitely teasing and she laughs up at him, lifting an eyebrow. "I mean, perhaps, purely for the sake of your art, mon chat..."

"You know me, My Aimee. I ever seek to hone my skills," Desmond replies with mock seriousness. "I am ever prepared for sharing in that training." The big cat will keep her close to him as they walk. The protective lean that he often keeps subtle allowed to be more prominent in the now. And though his eyes are on her, his ears are outwardly focused.

Her awareness of their surroundings is not lacking, her time living in the Dregs not leaving her with a trusting nature. "Then perhaps we should even train this night but ... oh mon chat.. I am so tired." This is clearly not the case, her eyes dancing as she teases him, her cheeks flushed from the cold. "Perhaps I should just sleep."

"I shall convince you, have no doubt," Desmond rumbles deeply, his eyes intent. She can tell through his slight cues that his mood is on the 'high' side. Perhaps the singing has done it.. or the prospect of outfits or painting. Or many of those things. Whatever it is, he seems as determined as the male half of that song.

She slants him a look, sidelong, before singing to the street, "So really I'd better scurry..." She is daring him, teasing as she pulls a little away, steps a little faster to walk in front of him, the invitation to play obvious. "Maybe just a half a drink more..."

"There is no hurry.. and it shall taste better.. after." Desmond's half mime of the song, though he is not so subtle in the end. His long stride able to match that hurry, a long arm reaching out to curl about her middle. His step carefully altered to keep the awkwardness of walking directly behind her less obvious.

She lets him curl his arm around her, and looks up at him with a smile, "I ought to say no, no, no, sir..." The words are half sung, half spoken in a husky tone, the implication of yes yes yes there in the air. "At least I’m gonna say that I tried..." She laughs then, dropping back to his side once more.

Desmond releases her in half as she moves back to his side, the one lingering arm curling warmly about her.. well, with that intent, though his armor holds in his body heat. But he's left the helmet off for their walk. "I will admit.. I am still uncertain about this singing thing. But.. it is another form of art. Though one that is less personal.. meant to be shared. Not so easy as with my drawing.. painting, I can refine it before I present the final product."

"You can refine the song, just by practicing. Perhaps think of it as doing the same drawing over until you are happy with it." She offers, sliding her arm around his waist, snuggled against him. "So that perhaps you get a feeling for how you wish it to be shown, and then you can draw it all in front of others and look like it is oh so easy...." She grins at him, singing up at him his own part. "Baby, it is cold outside..."

Desmond is thoughtful as he considers the parallel. Whether or not he agrees, ultimately, is left to the ether, but he doesn't openly disagree. Though the light singing prompts him to curl his arm about her a bit closer, despite it's ineffectiveness. "A fire tonight.. and wine." Offered lowly as he draws her along, upping the pace just a bit to carry them to such an ending a bit quicker.

She snuggles into his side, ignoring the armour, "Oui, and perhaps some icecream. I think I need something sweet before bed..." She is still teasing, offering memories of other times with icecream, her eyes dancing. "Perhaps it might help you reach the higher notes." Now, openly laughing at the thought.

Desmond makes a bit of a face at that thought. "That, I think, will never be," he muses idly, not really taking it seriously, though obviously finding the thought of it a bit ludicrous. And so they head north, leaving the Dregs behind for the safer environs that lie ahead, where they now make their home.

Tags: aimee, desmond, learning