Slow Leaning

Bass Clef Club
Bass Clef is a fair sized Jazz club with the lighting dimmed so that the booths and tables along the back and side walls of the cafe area are slightly shadowed and more private. Eight booths line the bricked walls, four on each side of the club. To get up into the booths there is a single step so that they are not on the same level as the rest of the floor. The walls are decorated with posters from past and upcoming events and entertainers. Several cafe-style tables have been set up in the center of the club with two to four chairs surrounding each. Closer to the bar there are taller tables, being close to forty-four inches in height so that someone could stand next to it and rest their elbows upon them as they leaned in against them.

Across from the large wooden door that is the entrance, there is a very short stage comprised of black marble. In the center of the stage is a grand piano, and enough room for the remainder of the jazz-band to set up. The stage is normally lit up with a spotlight, making it the most illuminated area in the entire club.

Settled on the right wall is the bar. The lights around the bar don't seem to be as dim as those in the rest of the club, but the lighting is still very low in order to keep the atmosphere of the rest of the establishment. Behind the bar the wall is done up in aqua-colored tile before the shelving for the various types of beverages; including soda. A door behind the bar presumably leads to the kitchen and storage areas.

Friday night and so many souls in sight, James is only up here on stage because of a dare. However, dressed in simple things like a t-shirt and leather jacket above it, jeans and comfortable boots he looks well enough with the guitar being handed over to him. Thanks to his buddies within the department, there won't be a jazz-band tonight, not specifically. Instead, there will be a small little rendition played out by the city's finest guardians; or, to the least, this is what the announcement has been going on about tonight. There James is, slinging up that black-and-white classic Fender and holding it aloft as he looks about the crowd. He smiles a bit, taking a step back when a microphone is shifted nearer thanks to a makeshift assistant.

Having arrived forty-five minutes earlier to reserve a table, Samantha sits quietly at one of the tables near the stage. As the man takes the stage her gaze shifts over towards the door one final time before relenting herself to the fact she has, indeed, been stood up. She rises from her chair to step down slightly before removing her jacket and once more settling in to enjoy the pending show. Her gaze sweeps to regard the man with his guitar — lips cracking into a reassuring smile as she waits a bit curiously for the music to begin.

Tasha is enjoying a night off, or at least that's the general plan: to enjoy it. It's brought her out to explore the jazz club, not quite on a whim, but not as pre-planned as she usually is. This results in not having reserved a table or made arrangements to that end, so she finds herself just inside the door, looking about for some place to sit. Though there are no stools free that she can spot, she decides after a moment to head for the bar, where she can at least get a drink while she loiters, checking out the place for options. Her order placed, she turns to watch the stage, the man upon it catching her attention a little more than he might for his music alone.

Young steps forward now that everything has been set up, giving a brief sidelong glance to the side in order to verify such. He then directs his attention forward and it's just enough to speak up into the microphone, his voice crisp and solid, strengthened by a faint Manchester accent. "Someone told me that - when you play the Blues, it's really sexy," explains the man, chuckling softly. That confident smile of his persists and it saddles up alongside his voice as well, lingering within his gaze as it casual roves from one point of interest within the crowd to the next.

"That, that sexy part comes from getting you all interested, leanin' in to this. So, let me lead you all into this with a few notes. I'll go ahead, start things up, an' then we'll get this night set off properly. How does that sound?" There's another brief and low laugh from Young before he steps back and brings the Stratocaster closer to his frame. It's tucked in close. His left hand lifts up in order to begin.

His right hand gives a light pat to the base of the guitar before reaching to step swiftly into things, but in spite of that swift pluck he glides along at a slowed and gentled pace, notes tying themselves together seamlessly and without fault, high to low, with the off-duty officer pausing to catch any actual leaning.

She does not lean…at least not at first. In fact, the whole comment about leaning seems to deliberately discourage Samantha from yielding to the pressure. Yet somewhere following the first several strums she finds her body slowly gravitating towards the center of her table. Her fingers wrap around the base of her mug, cradling the cup warmly as a ghost of a smile daringly curls upon her lips. Golden depths linger upon the musician curiosly so, breaking away only every now and then to survey the spell he appears to be quite affectively weaving upon some of the other patrons before turning to regard him again with a studious gaze.

Tasha isn't really a leaner exactly, but the music certainly manages to catch and hold her attention. She accepts her drink with a little nod, offering over money and a fair tip. Still unable to find a seat, she at least stakes out a stretch of bar, leaning somewhat primly back against it, one elbow propped up on the surface, once she's brushed it clean with her free hand. The rest of her attention remains mostly on the music and the man playing it, other than to periodically scan the room.

"Ah, one moment, please," begs the man in his wafting tones before glancing aside and leaning in the direction he's just looked. In the process, he inclines his head to the side further and adjusts the electric guitar. He begins the process all over, high-low, and then swinging back from low to a high, pausing there and sweeping his left hand down the neck. Whatever is said to him from someone off-stage and to the side of things warrants him nodding and then lifting his right hand into a small a-okay gesture. "Where were we, ladies and gentlemen? Ah - I remember."

Again, the same beginning in order to wrap the notes around the crowd's shoulders before taking a half-step back and pulling them in closer as the song continues. The notes are light and smooth, strengthening only a handful of times to match the guidance of his fingertips. As soon as it begins to pick up, it gently falls and drifts along the club. After all, Young cannot hold the note forever, as much as he would love to, but he does stand more firmly in place and lifts into the fullness of his height before taking back that half-step in retreat.

He doesn't speak up just yet, at least not readily. It's easier to allow the crowd to either boo the werewolf off the stage or applaud, or something.

Suspended for a moment in the aftermath of the instrumentation, Samantha merely holds her position at her table. When it finally does become apparent that he has completed the piece, she offers her own applause. She continues to study the man, almost as if committing his visage to some sort of memory before finally summoning one of the servers for another drink. She spends a few extra moments in quiet conversation with her server, finally slipping the woman some cash as she again glances a bit curiously towards the door with a sigh.

Still leaning up against the bar, unable to find a seat in the crowded club, Tasha listens intently as the man plays and then re-plays the song. Her expression isn't quite impassive, but it doesn't reveal much other than thoughtfulness. Her icy eyes remain watchful though, and she doesn't seem the sort who would waste attention on something she wasn't enjoying. Taking a sip of her drink as the song wraps up, she then sets her glass aside to that she can join in the applause, still watching the musician closely.

The small woman enters the club quietly, enough, seemingly without her usual evening companion. Mignonette, dressed in a pure white gabardine just a hair above knee length trench coat, neatly belted at the waist, and what might or might not be tango dancing shoes waits silently, patiently at the station, while the people ahead of her are seated. It seems as if it will be quite a long wait, and she's content to settle in the small semi-waiting area until a seat can be found, as she seems to have no desire to move to the bar.

The applauding is nice, quite so. It has Young smiling appreciatively to the folks out there around the fair-sized club. With his return to the microphone before him, he leans forward with his right hand lifting up to hold it and left hand steadying the electric guitar. "Just a teaser, I know, I know. I'd rather not bring out something absolutely magnificent - and promptly bomb it," his gaze does the shifting crowd-searching and pleasing from before, dark eyes settling upon a woman at the bar. To the woman, Tasha, he smiles all the more. Then, he looks elsewhere, an older couple near the front and then throughout the tables, pausing here and there, to Samantha. All the while, he speaks up.

"Now, I've got a few songs up in my mind here that I could go about playing - but if you've any requests, well now, it wouldn't hurt to give a raise of your hand for me to pick on, yeah?" He leans back to watch. At times, James may have poor intrapersonal skills but at the moment he's rather at home and comfortable, speaking up casually and smoothly despite the stifling heat produced by being on stage before so many eyes and within that jacket of his. He just may need to take it off.

The call for requests is met with a faint twitch from Samantha's lips, clearly considering any number of things as her gaze slides over to regard the woman at the bar. Absently biting her lower lip for a moment she finally takes a deep breath — straightening her posture at her table. She slowly leans over to pull out one of the four chairs at her table slightly before gesturing faintly to Tasha towards the available seat. Her gaze does slide back to the stage and Young once more, cautious not to detract too much from his limelight before again drifting to regard Tasha.

As the man at the mike spots her, Tasha just lifts her glass slightly in acknowledgement, having taken it back up once she'd finished applauding. She drums her fingers against the outside of it, cradling it in against herself a bit, though the faint tink-tink of fingers on glass can't really be detected over the amplified voice through the microphone. Noticing someone offering her a seat, she doesn't pause long to consider it, before smoothly pushing away from the bar to cross the space and drop into the empty chair. "Thank you," she replies, keeping her voice low.

Mignonette, still in the waiting area, does move back to the hostess station, making sure to pay whatever cover charge there might be for the evening. A few more words with the woman working there, before she settles into one of the chairs close to the door, legs crossed at the ankle, weight comfortably settled, the crowd moving quietly around her, coming in and going out again.

Young lifts his chin as a handful of people lift their hands to garner requests from the off-duty officer and the man steps around the microphone in order to field one towards in the distance. It comes up that he should give a try at Out of Nowhere. He gives a thoughtful look before breaking back into his confident smile, sharpening it with his ego until it's forming a light smirk before stepping back and tapping his right hand's forefinger against the black-and-white guitar. He looks after those moving about, sniffs gently at the air and picks apart each lingering scent, feels the warmth of the stage circling about him. He stops with his tap-tap-tapping in order to bring his right hand back forward and swing his left hand up, setting into the mood to play.

"This one ought to be good and nice." The song is longer and quicker than before but still retains that previous level of tenderness. This time, he's playing without casting his gaze downwards. Instead, he's moving forward while looking to the crowd for the previous faces he's connected with.

"You're welcome," Samantha replies quietly in turn to Tasha's words before once more returning her focus to the musician on stage. There is something compelling about the music he plays, her gaze sliding to watch the fluid motion of his fingers with rapt interest as her own seem to idly mimic the motions against the sides of her mug. She remains content to let others make the requests — golden gaze sliding to take in the others occupying nearby tables. A mild frown creases her dark brow as she reaches to remove her phone from her pocket, set upon vibrate so as to not distract from the performance. Sneaking a quick peek, her eyes widen a fraction as she slides it back into her pocket. Though she reaches for her jacket, she doesn't yet rise or make an effort to take her leave — perhaps waiting for an opportune moment to do so.

Tasha settles into the seat, at ease yet with that impeccable posture that was drilled into her as a small child. She sets her drink down on the edge of the table, resting her arm beside it, tapping a finger on the surface in time with the music. There's a simple nod to Samantha to acknowledge the reply, before she too returns her attention to the stage. Her gaze once again fixed upon him, she readily meets his gaze whenever it comes around. The slight movement from the woman beside her is enough to momentarily draw her eye, but Tasha only gives Samantha a quick glance before she's back to watching Young again. Mignonette has yet to be spotted in the crowd.

As the second set, of sorts, fades into silence, Mignonette rises from her seat, a slight gesture of her hand sent in the direction of the hostess, before she smoothes her jacket, the movement unconscious, natural. Her expression is as calm, as passive as its been since she arrived in the club, her movements practiced, unfailingly polite, as she makes way for a party of three entering the club. And, perhaps having seen what she came to see, she steps back into the cold, drifting snow laden night, leaving the warmth of the club behind her.

Soon enough, James has gone about completing the song but rather instead of continuing entertaining everyone with more of his jazz renditions he instead bows once and promptly begins to shift the guitar to another off-duty cop. Whilst his buddy prepares things, Young returns to the microphone and this time holds it with both hands. "Now now, I know I should probably play all night, but I really honestly just came to have a drink and enjoy the music myself. I'll see about things later - ladies - and have my friend here Paul dedicate things to all you couples out there in the crowd."

There's a self-assured look and royal smirk given to the crowd; oh yes, when someone's good, they absolutely know it, and the werewolf looks on confidently before giving the stage over completely and moving to the bar. Along the way, he's given thanks and words, but he honestly just wants a drink. Then, he approaches the table Samantha and Tasha are seated at, "May I?"

"Please, be my guest," Samantha gestures casually to one of the open chairs as she actually hops down slightly from her own, stumbling a little clumsily in the process. Her gaze slides from Young back to the other woman sharing her table before finally adding in a quiet manner, "I really hate to be rude… and please, sir, do not think this is a reflection upon you in the least — but I have something I need to tend to which cannot wait." She reaches for her jacket and quickly slips it on, zipping it halfway before finally letting her gaze linger upon the man for a few extra minutes, "You had the audience spellbound, sir. That's a remarkably rare talent and hopefully I will get the chance to hear you again sometime. But… really, you both enjoy the table as I will have no further need this evening. Perhaps another time…" even as she speaks the words, her gaze shifts to regard Tasha with a soft smile, "If you're ever in need of a seat again, you are always welcome to join my table. There's no sense in letting vacant seats, as rare as they are, go to waste."

"Not my table," Tasha replies, by way of giving him leave to join them. "But I've no objections." She sits back slightly, crossing one leg over the other as she turns more inward towards the table, and less outward towards the stage. Samantha's preparations to leave are once again noticed, and the woman gives a nod of understanding. "When duty calls, we must answer." She considers the offer of the table, smiling faintly in wry amusement that they might end up in this same situation again. Not that she'll rule any coincidence out, considering the strange ways of the world sometimes. "Well, thank you. I'll keep the offer in mind, and reciprocate. Should I have a seat to spare at some point…" It's granted easily enough, Samantha getting another thoughtful look before Tasha looks back to Young. "And she's right. You are quite talented."

Given the opportunity and okay to take a seat at the table, James moves to settle in with his glass in tow. Though, with him sitting down one of the women are standing up and he looks over to Samantha curiously enough, listening to her. He ends up smiling appreciatively once again and he bobs his head with a light nod. "Thank you, ah - James - Young, another time would be nice," it's a small introduction but it's better than nothing at all. He sits a bit back, drink still untouched, looking between the two of them even as the other officer begins to pick up with a requested song. It doesn't take much for him to amiably add, "Have a nice evening. I'm glad you liked the performance." Then, he looks to Tasha at the compliment from her and he bows his head in reply. "Thanks, of course. I do try at times."

"Until then, Mr. Young," the young brunette adds with a thoughtful smile bobbing her head politely to both before she pushes her chair back in and begins to weave her way around the tables and towards the exit as discretely as she can manage. Even as she does so, Samantha slides her cellphone out of her pocket and begins to text something rather intensely, stumbling once more upon her way out before vanishing back out into the evening.

Tasha glances briefly towards the stage as the music picks up again, though this performer is a little less personally interesting, even if the music is fine. Samantha's exit is noted before finally her attention comes back to Young. "Trying is one thing. You've a certain stage presence," she replies, not really meaning this to be superfluous flattery as simply stating a fact. Though there are other reasons he drew her attention as well, of course, and the main one is also why she's quietly sizing him up in the here and now.

It is rather difficult for James to not find stumbling amusingly cute and he catches the sight out of his peripheral, lending to him glancing over to make sure that the Samantha is safe in her travels before smiling to himself and turning his attention back towards Tasha. "Oh?" This piques his curiosity enough and instead of lifting his glass in order to drink from it, he holds it before him and near to his chest. There's a lift of his chin and him leaning forward, returning the looks she gives even as he asks in return, "And what would that presence be, exactly?"

Tasha meets his gaze unflinchingly and unyieldingly. It would be rather forward, perhaps even suggestive, if that were the point. As it is though, it's about something much more primal and instinctive than that, as she tries to work out where they stand in relation to one another on the general hierarchy of things. "I don't know precisely. Stage presence. Confidence, talent, and a little something undefinable. You seem to enjoy the crowd, so they enjoy you." She shrugs slightly, not sure she can define it better than that. She takes a sip of her own drink before setting it back down.

Young holds the gaze long enough to satisfy any initial curiosities though they do persist. It's what brought him to this table specifically. As he listens to her response, he continues to casually watch after her and in the process he lifts his glass up further, just enough to have its rim tap against his bottom lip before finally drinking from it. It's bitter and only briefly distracts him. There's a brief glance aside and then he focuses into speaking up, "Well, the same someone that taught me all I know about jazz said something along the lines of, 'we're different, this entire little pack of us' - better than society at large, he said. Can't say I believe, but at times… like magnets."

Tasha gives a little nod to that, finally looking away when he does, though he still maintains a great deal of her focus. Absently, she rolls her glass on its bottom rim, playing it between her fingers as she considers this comment. "Sounds like a wise someone," she replies, looking back up from watching the liquid roll around in the glass to level him with another look. "Something about distinct certainly sets a group a breed apart." It gets a wry grin, and she's not sure whether to be amused or groan at her own bad pun. Instead, she just pauses, considering something for a moment. "I'm Natasha Cox, by the way. I don't believe I've seen you around before." Of course, Dallas is a big enough city… but it gets smaller when you're talking about a specific group.

James eases his shoulders into a brief shrug at the wisdom comment but he does listen in on the rest of the words, that curiosity still floating about the forefront of his mind. He meets her gaze once again and just as before he holds it. He huffs gently at the pun, which at least has him amused and keenly interested. "A pleasure to meet you, Natasha," is his initial response but he has already introduced himself, not directly but it was there nonetheless, and that has him pause to mull over their words thus far in the conversation. "I haven't been here long," he explains with the confident air returning, "I seem to be quite the star apparently, but…" He trails off, rethinking his approach.

That her pun gets some reaction of amusement improves Tasha's mood a little, inasmuch as the stoic's mood shifts at all. Not that she was terribly worried how it would go over, but having it go over well is still preferable, of course. "And you, James," she returns with a slight nod of her head, confirming she did pick up on the introduction that was offered to Samantha. She takes a sip of her drink and eyes the stage for a moment, but the music now has become more of a backdrop. As he trails off, her light gaze seeks him out once more, eyebrow raising in question. "But…?" Whatever approach he's rethinking, she's still trying to puzzle out the hidden meaning beneath it.

"I can't say that I'm always good with this being coy thing. You remind me of a few others I've met in my day - interesting, to say the least," James begins to explain but he slows down to a crawl when it comes to words for one of his coworkers are stepping up with a woman in tow. He looks up to the other man and raises an eyebrow questioningly before shaking his head to the approach and leaning forward more heavily, in order to pay more attention towards Tasha than to the officer's departure from the jazz club. "With the good little group around here, or?" That's far more forward but at he does it politely so and retains that calmed demeanor, despite the focus in his gaze.

"I am that, yes," Tasha replies, as to being interesting. "And I suppose we don't need to be coy. Just … discrete." She cuts a sidelong glance to see how likely it is that anyone is liable to overhear, though at this point they're probably more likely to think this is some sort of set up for an affair or something. It's then that she notices the cause of James's distraction, and she waits silently while he has his non-verbal discussion with his colleague, passing the time by taking another small sip of her drink. She doesn't really bother to hide the fact that she's watching the communication unfold, and as James returns his attention to her, her gaze is quick to come back to him. She considers the question for a moment, before figuring a forward question deserves a frank answer. "I am. Been away for awhile, but I'm back in touch."

James quiets down with a nod in response, in agreement that discretion should be warranted, just prior to lifting his drink once again and emptying the scotch down his throat. He buries it there and clenches his jaw though by the time he has set his glass aside his expression softens into something more… magnetic, returning to his previous airs and attitudes. With his glass currently emptied, he presses his forearms to the edge of the table between the two of them and links his fingers together, lacing them together for the time being. "I can't say I meet many from the group," he explains offhandedly while remaining conversationally quiet. A look around allows him the proof that anyone around is more interested on the music being played. He looks around once again though. "Makes me wonder if they're really around nowadays - then again, there's -you- sitting right here, before me."

Tasha simply watches him as he finishes his drink, taking in the slight changes in mood, posture, the little things to which a verbal species has long stopped paying attention. "We're around," she assures him with a nod, her voice kept low as well, pitched just above the music and no more. Her gaze shifts to watch the musician on stage for a brief moment, before it's back on James again. "If you're not running into us, it's probably because you don't need to. Which is likely a good thing." She pauses for a moment with that, sipping at her own drink again before setting the glass aside, nothing left but ice and the dregs she isn't going to bother chasing.

James tightens the hold over his hands as idle thoughts carry across his mind. They become petty little distractions as he listens to her, glancing sidelong when she does but returning to their conversation and to the natural curiosity between the two of them. It's wholly primal and innately natural and continues to hold the officer's attention. "I chalk that up to similar intents and mission statements," and Young keeping under the radar of the local laws when it comes to the Pack. He smiles though and it sharpens his expression a bit. "Well, suffice to say, I've come to like you, Natasha. Still-" It's hard for him to put an exact phrasing or even a single word to the attraction. Then again, he's already likened it to magnets.

"Good to know the goal isn't something we hold uniquely," Tasha replies thoughtfully, giving him another of those piercing, considering looks. He's still a bit of a puzzle, and it's as though she's hoping to solve it through detailed observation. No longer with her glass ready at hand to play with, she goes back to lightly drumming her fingers on the table, an outlet for excess energy rather than nerves. The smile is considered for a long moment before it's returned, her own still slightly wry and rather, well, wolfish. "Suffice to say," she agrees, finding some amusement in that, even as she nods in slow agreement, seeming to pick up at least in part on the unspoken part of that. "It's a curious thing, isn't it."

James lifts his brows nigh emphatically with noting her strumming and his fidgeting fingers but at least there's some fashion of a common ground between the two of them, or at least he assumes his touch of wariness and desire to burn off excess thoughts and energy - beyond talk - is the same. With his smile returned, he inclines his head thoughtfully but then shifts back into returning a similar look, as reassuringly nice as that is. "I haven't felt this great in ages - and here I am, idly positioning myself to assert myself above you." He's back to being forward and instinctive, primal and a wee bit suggestive. It helps with his stage performance.

Tasha's eyebrows lift a bit at his forward comment, with a mixture of challenge, amusement, and those same primal undercurrents that have been driving the conversation forward thus far. "Mm, and you think you have what it takes?" she replies, keeping her tone more towards the playful side of things yet, though there's a hint of genuine question in there too. "I'm not the sort of woman to just … roll over." Okay, she really has to stop with the puns, but she can't quite help herself, as something about this conversation has brought out her atrophied and sardonic sense of humour.

James gently shakes his head to the contrary but then again he also speaks up with a brief little, "I know I can." It's wholly honest and challenging at the same time, with him holding his gaze onto her to help settle the point across. He looks up and then lifts a hand in order to signal a waitress to swing on by, but soon enough he is looking back to Tasha with a light lift of his shoulders, nonchalantly so. "If you don't like rolling over. I suppose picking a position and sticking to it works." He settles the hand back down, biting back the response and wishing he had closed his mouth beforehand. Still, there they are, tossing comments back and forth.

Rather than a spoken response, Tasha simply makes a thoughtful noise as she considers those two rather conflicting responses. Not that she's having a hard time figuring out which is the more honest of the two. And the more challenging, for that matter. She meets his gaze for several long moments until, finally, there is a small flicker of … something. It isn't yielding, but just the merest suggestion that she's maybe considering giving in to his point. She very briefly glances over to watch as he flags down the waitress, but it's little more than a fleeting glance before she's back to watching him, both with more interest and a little more wariness. His more pointed comment is considered, and it takes her a moment to respond. "I never said I didn't like to. Only that I'm not the sort to just…"

The waitress arrives and this leads James into stalling and not responding, staying away from the conversation between the two of them long enough for him to return his glass and offer the same to Tasha. Though, when the waitress does depart, he lifts his hands before him, palms up, almost as if to shrug. "Commit to it? No, I wouldn't expect that, for some reason… but there's a meeting soon, real soon, that we're required to attend. If you're there, we'll continue to talk, see where that leads?" Asserting, he is.

Tasha gives a little nod to the offer, glancing sidelong at the waitress while James is dealing with her, but it's only fleeting, and the rest of the time is spent studying him again. When he turns back to her, she considers the suggestion, but really, there's no reason not to agree, is there? "I'll be there." She lets it go without saying that they can therefore talk and see where things lead. And she doesn't argue the assertiveness. Instead, she simply offers a dry, "Should be one hell of a meeting." Though she leaves it vague whether that's because of the politics or their personal business.

Now that he's reminded himself about the two-natured meeting, James scoffs at the thought but it's just a passing moment and he's in interesting company to keep his focus on Tasha. "I'll be there too," he states plainly enough when compared to previous tones. He laughs warmly and shifts within his seat. "I'm hoping that doesn't turn into an understatement." The music ceases and he looks up and over, being signaled by the would-be musician. Still, he looks back to Tasha with a lift of his chin in regarding. He has to ask, "Any song requests or would you care for some sort of dedication to… oh, to potential friends and more?"

There's another not from Tasha as he confirms his own attendance, aloof and casual, though the fact certainly does get filed away. At the laughter, she offers another wry smile, her eyebrows lifting just a little, though this time the challenge is more playful. "I guess we'll have to wait and see," she muses, letting that hang for a moment, before she glances towards the stage. The offer gets some genuine, if subdued, surprise from her. "I don't think I've had a song dedicated to me before," she replies, her tone kept distinctly neutral. There's a pause, her fingers picking up their drumming rhythm, before she finishes: "Surprise me?" With the song choice, one presumes.

"Of course," readily replies and accepts James, shifting out of the seat faster than necessary but coming up into a stand nonetheless. It's a smooth movement and he then pauses in order to remove his jacket to avoid becoming stifling hot up on stage like before. He turns to the table and sets the jacket there on the back of his seat, glancing to Tasha. He keeps quiet this time around, no words, just the same lightly mystified and innately curious looks he's given to her and she's given to him. Then, in just his jeans, boots and t-shirt, the werewolf's taking to a confident step in order to return to the stage and retrieve his Stratocaster. He grins, wolfishly so, leaning into the microphone and briefly spotlighting 'his new an' lovely acquaintance' Natasha before stepping back and shifting into the previous jazzy tones of his.

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