Log: Ole Sings the Blues - September 13, 2004

Goblin Fruit -- Main Room

With its mural-covered walls, multiple bulletin boards and esoteric smoothie menu -- whoever heard of a cactus and mulberry smoothie? -- stepping into Goblin Fruit can seem a little bit like taking a wrong turn into a painting by a particularly quixotic children's author. The floor is brown tile blunted with rugs patterned in fallen leaves; they edge up against the ferns painted on the walls, creating the illusion that there's no actual distinction between the two. The chairs and tables are a mis-matched assortment, mixing wicker, painted wood and plastic. There are even a few comfy chairs and loveseats around the outside of the room.

The counter itself is either a work of art or the testimony to someone with a modicum of wood-carving skill getting really, really bored one day; it seems to have grown organically up out of the earth, shaped like a particularly twisted tree, with roots that run around the baseboards and branches reaching up to provide support for dangling menus, plants and baskets of fruit. And of course, there are the creatures: small tanks and terrariums are scattered all around the room, holding small reptiles and amphibians, as well as a few exotic bugs. The lighting is smooth and even, and the piped-in music is generally non-obtrusive -- folk or quiet Celtic.

Contents: Ole, Jeanette, Monica, Jan, Thistle

Ole is, as usual, Mr. Heard Before Seen; there's a slightly dimmed-down series of sung notes before he bursts through the door, in full-on music-opera Lloyd-Webber-please-bow-down fashion, "And I will keep you safe and strong, and follow where you lead -- I'll never leave your side now, you're the only love I need...No matter what they tell us, no matter what they do, no matter what they teach us, what we believe is true; I can't deny what I believe, I can't be what I'm not...I know this love's forever, that's all that matters now, no matter what..."

Jan perks up like a meercat spotting food, and is suddenly rocketing out of her chair, leaving it to weave on one leg, then fall over like a tree felled in an old-growth forest. Jan, meanwhile, is on a beeline across the room, using an unoccupied stool to boost herself as she heads for Ole's chest like a heat-seeking missile with every intention to catch, keep, cling. "Ooooooooooleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Thistle is, at most, a half-step behind Ole, catching the door and smiling at him with unmistakable fondness as he listens to the musical entrance. As soon as he spots Jan, he leans back to make sure she can pounce without it causing chain reaction, door shutting behind himself.

Monica leans over to right Jan's chair. "OLE!" she adds to the general din. "THISTLE!"

"All good choices," Jeanette answers easily. She's leaning on the booth closest to Jan, and Monica, one smoothie in either hand, a bone flute tucked under her arm. "I can actually do a bit of J-pop, though I never really know what I'm singing, I just know the sounds. I think you'd..." -- and then her head twists toward the door, a bright smile upon her lips. "He's goooood," says the girl, whistling at the end of her sentence. "Hi, Ole! Hi, Thistle!"

Ole grabs Jan and starts to spin. "PUMPKIN! MONICA! Miss Jeanette!" Spin, spin, spin the Jan. "She said yes for real, Jan!"

Thistle winces slightly at the volume, and wiggles his fingers at Monica...then blinks at Ole. "She did? There was ring approval? I did not blow my job as best man already?" He then blinks back toward the table, and peers curiously at Jeanette. "Hello...Miss Jeanette?"

Monica squeals, then claps her hand over her mouth. "Sorry, Thistle. Sorry, sorry."

And now there is _real_ squealing, as Jan gets her knees firmly locked around Ole's waist, feet sticking straight out, and enthuses, "Yay! Ohmygodsyou'regettingmarriedTHAT'SSOCOOL! Oh, _Ole_! Are you happy? Is she happy? Are you changing your mind? Is she sober?!"

Ole bounces with Jan clinging to him like a lemur. Bounce, bounce, bounce, clackclackclack go his hooves. "I'm! Getting! Married! She was sober! Married! The ring was good! THISTLE! Married! I'm SO happy!"

Monica has huge watery eyes of sappiness. "I think I'm gonna peeeeee!"

"She did?" Jeanette asks, standing upright. "She DID! Oh, congratulations to you two!" says the girl with the two smoothies in hand. "I'm so happy for the two of you! I knew that you two would get together some day, I just knew it. This is just great; somebody I know's tying the knot. Have you guys gotten to the part where you decide what kind of wedding you want to have, or is that part still up in the air?"

Thistle blinks back at Ole and Jan, then grins broadly -- which is really disconcerting without the teeth. HTe steps up then, wraps -both- of them in too-long arms, and lifts Jan and Ole both up off the ground in a bear hug. Okay, that explains why the sluagh's in charge of security...

Ole stammers, "Pirate wedding. I got SO MUCH SEX." Way to overshare, Ole. "SO MUCH."

Jan squeaks, as she's picked up, "Yay for soberness!" She then cranes her neck around to blink at Jeanette, like a very weird sort of monkey, and asks, "Like, 'get together'? Dude, they've _been_ together. Now they're just giving us an excuse to buy their beer."

Thistle snorts lightly, and sets Jan and Ole both down. "Of course you got so much sex. Lucky bastard." He's grinning though. "Right. Jan? Can we -buy- pirate tuxes, or do we need to special order?"

Jan blinks. And squeals again: "PIRATE TUXES!"

"Ooh! I wonder if Corbin will let me wear his HAT!" Monica exclaims. "I got to once. It looked good. He said so."

"I know!" Jeanette says back to Jan cheerfully. "I meant 'get together in the bonds of holy matrimony', actually. Pirate wedding sounds excellent, though. We could put you in a black greatcoat tuxedo, and she in a white bodice and corset. Ooh -- and lots of jewelry and treasure. I bet Corbin would perform the ceremony if you asked him nicely enough!"

Thistle waves a hand absently. "I think the 'cut out of a corset' look, entirely closer to the mark. But I also imagine letting the bride decide might save limbs."

"She's a spunky woman," Monica says solemnly.

Monica adds, "Full of spunk. Not /that/ kind of spunk. Well, I guess sometimes she is, but--- shutting up now."

Thistle smirks faintly at Monica, and murmurs, "I am entirely not commenting?"

Jeanette wrinkles her nose at that, allowing a small chuckle to get out. Just a small one. "Ew," is her uttered comment.

Ole usually doesn't have a backup orchestra for his musical interludes. Breaking into song? Totally typical. But suddenly, there's a sweet little introduction, and Ole launches himself onto a chair.

"So now I'm getting married -- what a strange event to face.
There's so much left to figure out, so much to put in place..."

It's sappy. For about half a second. And then he jumps down, and grabs Jan and Thistle's hands. Apparently, this is a dance number now, an upbeat little tune, full of glee, asided first to Jan, then Thistle.

"But now I'm getting married, it's too late to run and hide;
While I might escape the pirates, I don't think I'd dodge the bride!"

Ole scampers to Monica and Jeanette, addressing them in the verse, conversationally. To Monica:

"I've finally found her, a girl who can handle
The ups and the downs and the lows and the highs,
So we'll marry at sea, quite surrounded by pirates
And when Corbin abducts her, I'll say my good-byes,"

And then to Jeanette:

"And now I'm getting married to the snidest girl in town
If you want her in a corset, you may have to tie her down.
Yes, now I'm getting married, all the rumours, dear, are true
But there's still a pressing question -- who said I invited _you_?"

This last is delivered with a wink. Oh my god. It's an impromptu musical number. Ole looks thrilled.

Monica nods furiously, grabs her smoothie, and starts to suck on the straw - then hastily puts it down again.

Jan blinks at the orchestration, and then just starts cracking up. Laughing! Too hard! To breathe!

Thistle starts to say more...then stops and just -stares-, even as he's dancing around with Ole. The grinning starts when Ole moves in, and he's just allowed to watch, but there's still a dash of 'dazed' in his expression.

Monica gapes, eyes huge. "HOLY SHIT!"

"Wow," Jeanette says, her own eyes wide, and she very lightly applauds. "We've never spontaneously broken into song and dance before. That was great, Ole! Ah..." -- she blinks several times. "Am I just losing it or... where'd you get the accompaniment?"

Monica pops up. "FUCKING PIANO!" she exclaims. "THIS IS FUCKING CREEPY AND I WANT TO FUCKING THROTTLE..." she trails off, looking around and says, "Nothing. Maybe something in a video game. I'm fine, I just have Tourette's." Poor bystanders.

Ole ends up perched on a table, suddenly, a la torch singer, practically speak-singing as he addresses the audience for the next bit, practically aping Marlene Dietrich or Michelle Pfeiffer...don't ask. His tone is full of mock-woe.

"It's never been easy in this modern world
A guy without pants often won't get the girl..."

He straightens up, suddenly, and continues, rolling over the table raunchily -- Oh, no, we may all be getting arrested --

"But I'm getting wed pantsless, 'cause my girl can cope.
And if folks get annoying, we'll damn well elope!"

Ole leaps to his feet again, then jumps down among the other four, still going, not stopping to answer questions, the tempo speeding up to something frenetic, swanning about on Jan and Thistle as appropriate, first making Thistle make juggling motions, then pleady eyes at Jan, then bouncing back to bump his hips against Thistle, then back to Jan to grab her hands and wave them overhead. Personal space? What?.

"Oh, the Crawfords aren't coming, 'cause we're with the pirates
The Atwaters mean that we'll need lots of beer.
My best man and groomsdyke are juggling torches --
How can we arrange this in less than a year?
The bride's in the wine (I'll be in the bride, later)
I'm high as a kite -- this just couldn't be greater
'Cause I'm getting married, my dears, can't you see?
My girl's lost her mind, 'cause she's marrying ME!"

And then Ole drops to one knee, hand up in supplication as if offering a ring. And then there's a long pause, and he squeals, "THAT WAS COOLER THAN MY IDEA TO DO THE ENTIRE CEREMONY AS THE CEREMONY FROM MUPPETS TAKE MANHATTAN!!"

Jan obligingly dances along when motioned to do so, but really, between the laughing and the staring, she's not good for all that much at this point. "Woooooooooooooooooow," she intones. "You _sang_! With, y'know, instruments! And dancing! And...yeah!"

Thistle may still be stunned, but he grins and goes with the flow -- juggling when Ole needs it, quite happily bumping hip to hip with the groom-to-be, and dancing right along in tempo to play backup in the background. He ends up with hands splayed out as if presenting Ole to the audience Vanna White style...and just laughs at the satyr's reaction. "I have a feeling we just trumped surprise holiday breasts."

Monica blinks. "That was really /good/."

Thistle glances over at Monica, and grins broadly. "Of course it was. It was Ole."

Ole babbles, "There was SINGING! And...in the background! And...Thistle, do you think Liz would kill me if we DID do the Piggy and Kermit number? Maybe worse than the corset...and...THAT WAS SO COOL!"

Thistle looks back at Ole with a grin, and mmms. "Get her drunk enough first, and she'd do it. Especially if she got to be Kermit."

Jan leans over to hug Ole, firmly, and beams. "Dude, that _rocked_. Doitagain!"

Jeanette's eyes are widened, surprised, watching all of the singing and dancing and spontaneous musical interludes. "That WAS really great, Ole. Where'd those lyrics come from? Was that all just impromptu, or was that something you wrote? Because if you're just improving that, that's some sincerely impressive work!"

Monica nods to Thistle. "Yes. Very good. I'm fucking creeped out, but it was awesome."

Ole sputters, "I don't KNOW. I just...All of a sudden. Boom! Singing! I don't USUALLY have backup music...do I usually have backup music? What, Monica?"

Jan shakes her head. "No. Usually, there is a marked lack of backup music."

Monica sits down heavily. "Electric Knights. Us. Singing. I'm not entirely /surprised/, but I am still fucking freaked out it's happening again."

Thistle nods slowly. "Lack of background music...and usually, honestly? You don't tend to spontaneously burst into original numbers. Broadway, yes. Your life? Not...so much."

Ole flops into a chair, and says seriously, "That was the best. I don't care if it was freaky. I got a COMEDY NUMBER."

Monica grimaces. "I don't sing."

Thistle looks over at Monica. "How do you know you don't sing now?" He flops into seat next to Ole, with a little smile. "Damn fine comedy number, too."

Jeanette's mouth forms a noticeable O-shape. "You're right," she says. "This was all on television; on Electric Knights AND on Buffy. Creepy. Not necessary dire and frightening, but definitely creepy. The song was really good, though. You think it's going to happen again?"

Monica dances in her chair a little. "I don't sing 'cause my voice sucks, I don't sing about red ducks!" She stops the chair groove. It wasn't good singing. It wasn't /hideous/, but it wasn't good. "See? You don't want to hear an extended song."

Ole says dryly, "I have no clue. We'll have to wait and see. Maybe it was just...magic wedding vibes.

Thistle blinks, then mmms. "Could be. I suppose we'll have to see if it continues."

Monica picks up her smoothie and has a cautious sip.

Drina has arrived.

Monica is sipping her smoothie and setting at a table; she looks disturbed.

Thistle may be disturbed, but he's too busy grinning as he sits next to Ole to really let it bother him for the moment.

"I don't know," Jeanette says, sipping at the Full and Fine smoothie, leaving the Orange Caesar sitting alone and lonely on the table. She's leaning up against the wall with a bone flute tucked under her arm, listening to Thistle, Ole, and Monica talk. She casually wraps a forearm around her waist, murmuring, "Whatever it is, it was interesting, to say the very least."

Ole is flopped in a chair and grinning like a madman, staring up at the ceiling. "Oh, yeah. That was fabulous. I hope it happens again." Ole is wearing the Good Sex face. He could get arrested for that, the way he looks.

Thistle glances over at Ole for a moment, then smirks and starts absently fanning at his cheek. "Your luck, my darling boy, and it will."

"Oh, he's a filthy, nasty pirate, A very naughty pirate!" It's soft, this singing, but Drina -- being Drina -- rarely makes an entrance somewhere without singing and dancing her way into the room. Unless she's pouncing on something, which, right now, she is not. She's shuffling on in, doing her little Pirate Backup Dance, complete with Jazz Hands. "All my moral fibers are threaaaaad baaaaaare. Badum, some stuff about the guile and the smile and ching! Triangle. Now drums."

Monica raises an eyebrow, glancing at Ole and Thistle and then back to Drina, whom she waves at.

"Everyone has music on their minds!" Jeanette announces brightly as Drina enters, tilting her head back triumphantly. "That just makes my job that much easier. How're you doing, Drina? How're things going? Are you and the Cap'n making it happen?"

Ole opens up one eye, peering at Drina, but remains in his 'was it good for you?' pose on his chair.

Thistle smiles a bit at Drina, expression curious. He then almost languidly leans over toward Ole, -almost- but not quite draping against the man's side as he whispers in his ear.

Monica announces, "Ole started singing. More than usual."

Ole coos, "It was _amazing_."

Monica stares. "You have afterglow. You had sex when I was right here!"

"Corbin, too, and then he told the fifty people watching that he wasn't gay, because there were jazz hands and spirit fingers and lots of posing on his dinghy." Drina informs Monica, before adding, after a pause, "The boat." And then to Jeanette, "Every day and twice on Sundays."

Thistle leans awway from Ole after a moment, then blinks easily over at Monica and notes, "And you didn't even get spunky!" He stops and peers over at Drina, then notes to Ole, "Either the wedding magic's extending to the officials, or it's not just that."

Ole listens to Thistle a moment, then gives Thistle a smile and a nod. "It's a date." He agrees, "I did, Monica. I had showtune sex RIGHT ON THIS TABLE." He blinks. "The captain had...Jazz hands?" he asks, with a speculative expression. "I'd have paid to see that."

Monica spews some smoothie out her nose as she laughs, then promptly exclaims, "Ow ow ow ow!"

Drina demonstrates demonstratively. Jazz hands. "I swear, there were jazz hands, and a full backing orchestra, and a cast of thousands."

"Music does a strange thing to a man... or a woman for that matter," Jeanette says breezily, sipping at her smoothie. Now she gets the other smoothie so she's got one for each hand and drinks from them both at the same time. "The power of a melody reaches deeply into the soul and pulls out goodness knows just what. Apparently for some it's like reaching into someone's drawers and pulling out... lyrics," -- the last word spoken after a needless pause. "I too would have paid to have heard him perform jazz; please tell me you got a recording of it and mean it."

"Not jazz. It was Broadway. With the sparkly lights and the phantom of the opera and everything. Jazz /hands./" And Drina demonstrates again, holding her hands up at waist level with palms out and fingers splayed, shimmying her hands a little bit. "Jazz hands."

Thistle murmurs dryly, "It's the ghost of Bob Fosse. Obviously."

Ole demonstrates along with Drina. "Jazz hands!" Irrepressable. Apparently, he's hoping to encourage round two of the singing, or something.

Monica murmurs, "It burns, it burns..." quietly in the background and pats about for a napkin.

Miles has arrived.

Ole says, with glee, "It burns like BROADWAY."

"It burns like GODDAMN SMOOTHIE," Monica retorts, gingerly blowing her nose on a napkin.

Thistle smirks, and shakes his head. "I am refraining from comment. It's safer. Though I like Broadway."

"Horrors," Jeanette says, seating herself at the booth. "I'm curious, though, Drina. Did he ENJOY the performance, or was he kind of horrified about it? Are normal people noticing that people are spontaneously bursting into song, or are people just assuming that we're living in Broadway-land like with the whole... switcheroo incident?"

"It burns like smooth Broadway?" offers Drina, shuffling over to the table with a little happy dance. Smoooooth Broadway.

Ole grins at Drina. "It was VERY smooth. I'll try to remember and send you the lyrics. I was very complimentary. I liked the bit about how you were all going to abduct my bride before the wedding and I'd wave cheerfully goodbye."

"We sing every day on the Cutlass. I sing every hour on the hour. I don't think he really minded." This, from Drina. "I don't see how anyone could /not/ like singing. Especially with a spontaneous backing orchestra."

Monica surrepitiously wads the napkin into a little stick and nudges it up her nose, twirling it.

Miles makes his way in, hands in his pockets as he makes his way towards the counter. As he catches the conversation, he slows, stops, then stares. "The heck's going on?"

"Spontaneous singing. Choreography. Jazz hands!" Drina explains for Miles, grinning broadly. "This is almost as much fun as when I woke up with a wang the size of Montana." Pause. "Maybe not Montana. Maybe just, you know, Tennesse. Tennesee's wang-shaped."

Monica hastily pulls the napkin out of her nose. "Oh. Hi, Miles!"

Miles says "Really? I always thought Florida was more wang-shaped, but it sort of lacks balls...Maybe it's a castrato choir boy." A few seconds later, Miles looks up to the ceiling, "And that was -not- a suggestion of anything at all, thank you.""

"You'd lose your balls too if you had hurricanes slamming into you all the time," Jeanette says wryly, "Which... isn't what happened to me, for the record. But I digress; I didn't get to see much of you during that, Drina. More's the pity, too. It was just business as usual for me, though. Fun, though."

Monica giggles promptly at Miles for a moment before eyeing Jeanette. "Nobody ASKED!"

"I looked exactly the same," Drina informs Jeanette, "No tits." And to Miles, "Yep. Florida is more wang-shaped, now that I think about it. Why didn't I think of that? You are, in fact, the smart one."

Ole likewise eyes Jeanette, suddenly, before going back to his slump. "Thistle, precious, o best man among best men...what would it take for you to get me a smoothie? How much begging?"

Thistle mmmms softly at Ole. "Not much. We can even work out specifics in private tomorrow." He rolls up to his feet. "What kind? And does anyone else need anything?"

"Booty," Drina solemnly informs Thistle, taking his seat the moment that he gets up, with a cherubic smile on her face. "I need me some booty."

Ole says seriously, "I just displayed booty in song. You should have been here then. It would have been fun, I could have used you on the piratey verses, Miss Mendoza."

Thistle looks over his shoulder and down toward his rear, then shrugs. "I'm not sure I have much, given the givens. I know I've a decided lack of spunk in my life." He just smiles innocently, and heads over to get in line.

Ole calls to Thistle, "Thank you, sweetheart -- something with raspberries, please?"

Thistle gives Ole a thumb's up from across the room, rather than shouting back, and rocks on his heels -- right in time to Ole's song from earlier. Someone's humming it under his breath.

"Booty's booty," Drina tells Thistle, leaning back in his chair a little and looking over at Ole. "Ohyeah? Sorry I missed it. I was busy accompanying another pirate song. It's my lot in life, you know. Singing backup."

Ole nods to Drina. "As my lot in life is the cute comedy number. It's all right, I just don't like to deprive lovely women of booty." A beat. "That came out wrong. I'm engaged."

Jeanette is still working on her two smoothies, though she's probably only down to a quarter left in each one. "Not to worry," she says breezily. "I'm sure there's still quite enough unplundered booty out there for the taking. You just have to know where to search."

"Spunky booty," Monica says with a sigh.

"Are you? Good for you. I'm not. Never will be. Again, my lot in this life: unmarried. And pleased with this. But good for you, though you're quite insane. I've never been married, ever, think it's crazy, but I'm happy for you." Drina can say all of that without breathing, leaning back comfortably in her chair. Was Thistle's chair. But has now been stolen.

Thistle eyes Monica, and just bites his lip with a barely supressed smirk. NOT commenting. Instead, he orders two two smoothies, pays for them, and then comes back to find his seat taken. He eyes Drina, then shrugs and settles on the floor next to Ole's, offering up one of the cups.

Monica sticks her tongue out at Thistle.

Ole agrees, "It's the craziest thing, but I couldn't not," he tells Drina. "There was...There was half-naked showtunes. And puppets. And she used a zucchini for a prop." Clearly, Ole becomes speechless in the face of the event that caused him to propose; he doesn't make much sense, snagging the smoothie cup and gesturing. "I had to join her in the insanity," he concludes.

Monica blinks. "Puppets? Is that like hide the weasel?"

Ole blinks at Monica. "No, no. Actual puppets. She needed a backup chorus...it's...a long story..." He turns pink.

Drina leaaaaans onto one arm, propping her face on her hand, and smiles at Ole, her most charming pooka smile. "Do tell." You know you want to. It'll be FUN!

Thistle looks up at Ole thoughtfully, then murmurs, "Real estate agents like to burn their work tensions in very strange ways. Everyone's got odd hobbies."

Jeanette leans upon her hand, resting an elbow upon the table, propping up her head. She tries to stifle her laugh, but doesn't do so well at it. "This sounds like a very entertaining story, oh, yes. I'm with Drina on this one. If it involves suggestive puppets, all the better."

Thistle looks over at Drina. "Now now. You don't want him being dumped before he's even gotten to the altar."

"Aslongasthepuppetwasn'tonyourpenis!" Monica blurts.

Miles blinks. "Back up singers? Was it part of...whatever else you're talking about? The singing?" Miles has finally made his way to the counter, and is ordering a desert dream.

Ole waves his hands. "It's just what we do. I bought her puppets at the auction? And...naked. She has a hot tub? Puppets. It's not as dirty as it sounds!" He blinks, and laughs at Monica. "No, dear." That makes him relax. "Not that sort of puppetry. And no, Miles, this was well before this happened. Liz and I share a fondness for show tunes and theater. Even in the middle of our living room. When I caught her staging musical numbers in her undies in the living room without me -- I had to propose. It's that simple."

"You see?" Drina tells Thistle, looking down at the Sluagh and reaching around Ole to pat his head once. "It was a lovely story. Show tunes and peanut oil and all."

Drina adds, "I liked the part about the bagel chips. That was my favorite."

Thistle stares up at Drina for a moment, then whispers, "Of course it was. My mistake, obviously. You will I hope forgive me." He suddenly rolls up to his feet. "Floor's too cold." Pace, goes the sluagh.

Miles looks into his glass. "I think I should have ordered something with caffeine. I'm pretty sure I followed that."

"Alas, Miles' innocence," Monica trills. She blinks at Ole. "Is Liz gonna beat you up for telling us that she does that?"

Drina slouches slowly down into her chair when Thistle rolls up to his feet, her lower lip curling out a little as she does so. Now is the time when the pooka is confused and sad. Witness the Sad Pooka Face as she folds her arms on the table and drops her chin onto her forearms. Saaad Drina.

Ole blinks at Thistle, then says, "I make perfect sense. Of course you followed that. You're a bright boy," absently, to Miles. "Liz won't beat me up for that, no, Monica. I don't think. I've said worse."

"It's all I can do to keep from singing something like, 'well-uh-well-uh-well-uh' and asking you to tell me more," murmurs Jeanette. "But honestly, is there anyone who doesn't sing in their underwear? Or in the shower, for that matter? Drina, I know you sing all the time, right?" -- she seems to have been drawn in by the trap of the sulky pooka. "Aw. What's on your mind, Drina?"

Thistle paces back, he gives Ole the faintest of smiles, even as he reaches down and ruffles Drina's hair. He doesn't say a word, but then he's busy sipping on his smoothie.

Monica nods to Ole. "Crap. No hush money."

Drina peers up at Thistle for a moment, and offers him a little confused half-smile. She completely ignores Jeanette for the time being, peering up at Thistle as she is.

Blue has arrived.

Jeanette crosses her legs casually, taking the present time to finish off one of her two smoothies -- Orange Caesar is the first to tall, and it's not even the Ides of March.

Miles glances between Jeanette and Drina, and offers, quietly, "At a guess, about two inches less steel than will be on yours if you poke at her again." And he heads for a table.

Monica hiccups.

Thistle blinks faintly at Miles, then down at Drina. The smile he offers her back is...off-kilter, and gone as soon as he turns and starts to pace again.

Drina slides back down a little, going further into Pooka Pout Mode. While she looked briefly amused at Miles's statement, Thistle wandering off has her going back into Sadness. 'And there ain't nothin' sadder than a sad Pooka. It's a law.

Jeanette likewise blinks at Miles once or twice. "Well," she says. "Time for me to head back to Elis. See you later, everyone. Ole, congratulations again; I'm very happy for you and wish you both nothing but the best. Wonderful song, by the way. Be seeing you, everyone."

Monica stares a little and raises her hand for a little wave. "Uh. 'Kay."

Ole takes a deep breath, and turns his attention on Jeanette. Badabump. Badabump. That's not just his hoof on the floor. That's a musical vamp. And the satyr is pissed. The introduction behind it is, again, spoken rather than sung. "It's really nothing special? It's totally mundane? Everybody does it? BITCH, are you INSANE?" And then he gets to his feet, ranting -- in tune.

"I realize it's hard for you to grasp now;
it's a special thing that's quite beyond your ken.
I realize you weren't there to share it
when she made me the happiest of men."

His voice rises in annoyance, even as Jeanette stands up. Is it a good thing when satyr mood swings intersect with these songs?

Drina's eyes track from Thistle to Ole, and she watches in fascination. Woah.

Thistle turns around and slowly...blinks at Ole. His face pales slightly, but pacing..stops. Instead he finds someplace to lean, nearby but...out of the way.

Monica shifts in her seat and hastily looks around at things that aren't people.

Blue wanders in, camera in hand, and peers at the people. "Whoa, people. Hola, folks. What's new and in-" Ole starts singing, and Blue swings his camera up in automatic response without even thinking about it. Where there's action, there's an eshu filming it.

Miles blinks slowly as Ole starts to sing, and drains his smoothie all in one gulp.

"You misunderstand, you read me all wrong," Jeanette sings back, accompanied by an alto sax. "Not to imply that it's an everyday song. There's a musical well inside of our soul, to drink from the depths is what keeps all whole. What I imply is merely more of the same: it's all right to sing. Why should she feel shame?"

Ole keeps on singing, even if Jeanette is leaving, hand smacking the table to punctuate his words.

"But it was special - it was really special to me.
And I'd never felt such love like that before,
when the words that she was singing -- and the bra that she was wearing --
came and hit me as I walked into the door.
And to have you sit and say "Well, don't we all, dear?",
and to sneer when I say something changed my life,
Enough to make me turn around and change my nature,
enough to get down on one knee and gain a wife -- "

He breaks off, practically shaking, then hisses,

"So let me simply try to sum this up now,
before you waltz your smug ass out the door -
you patronizing, highfaluting, dismissive piece of...work.
BUGGER OFF, YOU INSULTING LITTLE WHORE."

Monica stares at Ole, then at Timothy, mouth hanging open. "Holy SHIT."

Thistle simply winces, looking between the pair. Perhaping making sure there's no coda to follow even as he starts edging around to Ole's side of the smoothie shop again.

"What was that all about?" Jeanette asks, her eyes widening in surprise. There's no music now. "What on earth is wrong with you, Ole? I didn't say anything about how normal it is for anyone to do that. How can you possibly say something so terrible about me? I didn't say ONE THING bad about her and you tear into me in front of everyone? Why?"

Blue blinks repeatedly at Ole's musical venom. "Oh fuck, oh my, someone really offended this guy. Oh shit, oh man, Ole's no longer that lady's fan. That's definitely a kiss-off if ever I've heard one, and believe me, in my work, I've heard a ton." Pause. "Goddammit. I didn't mean to start rhyming." Blue, by way of Seussical. Kill him now before it catches.

Monica stares over at Thistle, at Drina, and then over at Miles.

Miles spreads his hands to Monica. "Knew I should have gone to the Promise. I need caffeine."

Thistle looks sharply up at Jeanette, and whispers intently, "He wasn't the only one who picked up implications. Perhaps you should try...a bit less ornamental of speech when praising the virtue of relationships that weren't terribly great public knowledge. And didn't anyone teach you poking the angry satyr was likely to just get you punched?" And, oh-so-subtly, he ends up nearly between Ole and Jeanette.

Ole snaps back, "You just got done saying EVERYONE does what my fiancee does, when I was explaining that that was the rather special thing that got me to propose. I'm sorry, but ARE YOU HIGH that you think that's not going to offend me? I just usually wouldn't SAY SO, I have more self-control than that."

Blue offers, "By the way, congratulations, I suppose."

Monica nods to Miles. "I know! I wanted to ask Jan why the walk guy on the crossing sign had shoes but no ankles, though, so I came here."

"What the fuck?" Jeanette says, abandoning any illusion of feminine speech, eyes still wide, despite the fact that Thistle's standing in front of her. "You suggested that she'd be angry if she found out that you told that she danced around in her underwear and sang. My question, though maybe it wasn't said in a very straightforward was, 'why would she be upset? It's not a BAD thing.' I think what we have here is me saying something interpreted completely different. I am HAPPY to see you so happy. I wasn't even intending to be patronizing. I apologize if that's how it sounded, but I wasn't ripping into you OR your fiancee. That's totally not how I intended it."

Ole growls, leaning enough towards Thistle that it looks like he wants to shake Jeanette, and is thankfully being roadblocked, "What you SAID was "everybody does it". When, really, the point of what I was saying is that -- no, they don't. What she did for me? Nobody else on earth did. Maybe it wasn't what you meant, but maybe you should think before you open your mouth and learn to listen better, because I specifically said she WOULDN'T be angry about my saying so." Alas, rather than doing more of a throwdown, he throws himself back in his seat, grabs his smoothie, and slurps petulantly.

Blue informs Jeanette, "Give it up. You lost, and you're continuing to lose this one. I suggest you stuff the remnants of your dignity in your pocket and beat a retreat. I mean really. There's no point in continuing."

Thistle closes his eyes, but stands very still for the growling satyr at his back. When he opens then again, he whispers, "I'm the one who joked that she would be upset."

Monica raises her hand slowly. "I asked about hush money."

"I'm sorry," Jeanette says meekly. "I took what people said as literal," she continues. "I thought she really would be upset. I guess I missed the joke. I really didn't mean to offend you or her, Ole. I think that what she did was wonderful, and I can tell you from personal experience that I've never met anyone who would do something like that FOR someone. Most people only will do that in the shower or alone; to do it with someone? THAT'S something special. Please don't be upset with me. I'm sorry."

Ole's shoulders drop. "I'm not _that_ mad," he tells Jeanette. "I..." A beat. "All right, the Electric KNights effect? Ha ha, the universe has now proven that it's just as bad as they said it would be. I'm a satyr, you know, and I'm sorry I exploded. It...It just...It was far from mundane. It set me off," he says, gruffly, focused on his smoothie.

Thistle looks over his shoulder for a moment at Ole, biting his lip for a while before he sighs and slowly slips out of the way, taking a seat that's not otter-occupied but still close to the satyr.

Monica glances around. "Kay, NOW are you creeped out?"

Ole sighs, and stands up. "Yes. Which is why I'm leaving now." He squeezes Thistle's shoulder. "Catch you tomorrow."

Thistle looks up at Ole for just a moment, then reaches up to squeeze Ole's hand back, murmuring what's presumably a goodbye.

Blue salutes Ole lazily. "Take care."

Monica nods. "Um. Oh. Goodnight."

Ole blinks at Thistle, expression momentarily thrown, then nods. "Goodnight," he replies again, stepping out.

Ole has left.

Monica mumbles, "That wasn't triumphant at /all/."

"I'm very sorry too," Jeanette replies, bowing her head respectfully. "No. You're correct; there was nothing mundane about it. It is something that's one in a million. I just didn't want to walk out of here and just let it go. It's not the kind of person I am. Damn. I'm sorry, Ole," she sighs, shaking her head once again. "Take care."

Miles considers a moment, and eyes his glass. "I should either go get caffeine, or go back to the lab until I'm fit for human company again."

"Wanna see my ear thing?" Monica inquires.

Thistle watches Ole go silently, then looks away from the door, expression momentarily bitter. He shakes it off and stands, whispering, "It was a mistake, Miss Jeanette. They happen, they pass. Not the end of the world. I'm...going to go rest before this gest worse. Good night."

Miles smiles a little at Monica. "Sure, though I need to get back to the book soon. Translation fun. Lead the way.

Monica nods to Miles, standing up with a smile. "Cool. See you all later and shit." She heads for the exit, waving a bit at Thistle.

Jeanette appears mortified, saddened. A hand goes to the bridge of her nose, and she massages it very gently. "I'm sorry, everyone," she says. "For that misunderstanding. It was a good song, granted. I just wish that those things hadn't been said. I just like Ole, is all," she says, looking back toward the door. "I hate to see an upset musician. Anyway. Monica, come catch the show with Calvin. Thistle, thank you. Miles, you take care as well, please."

Miles follows Monica out.

Thistle whispers, "He's said worse to me." He smiles faintly at Jeanette, then waves and slips out the door.

Miles has left.

Monica has left.

Jeanette takes the remaining Full and Fine smoothie, finishes the last of it, tosses it into the wastebasket, and then makes her way out, twirling the small bone flute in her fingers nimbly. "Night, Thistle. Thanks again."