1965-01-05 - Welcome to Club Atomic
Summary: The grand evening opening of Club Atomic in Mutant Town. Doug couldn't be more proud of his new club's opening night with his friends there to support him; Sam working the bar as promised and Jay on stage. Gearhead happy to stir things up a little with Cajun mischief.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
jp jay cannonball douglas 


JP dropped Spanner.

Opening night. Doug is nervous as hell. He has a crisp white shirt and black slacks on, and people are coming in the door… for the free drink. Because it's a free drink which is a great excuse to see what happened to three-eyed Jack's.

So far, people are trickling in, doing bar stuff, chatting and milling about and the Wurlitzer is going — somebody put on the Beatles.

Doug tugs at his bowtie, where he's standing near the bar. "Okay. People are coming in. This is good… they're having their drinks, getting relaxed." He's just drinking a coke, himself — still off the sauce.

"Now Jay's just gotta close the deal and make this place famous." He swallows. "I know he can do it. But does he?"

Cannonball is at that bar, serving up drinks with a side of Guthrie swagger and sex appeal. He has his flannel sleeves rolled up, the top two buttons undone, and a nice little man-apron tied around his waist that has a bottle opener and a rag dangling from it. "Yes, Doug, don't worry. Its going to be a hit. Everyone loves a drink…and mutants need it more n most." He grins and his cheeks dimple.

Jay was thrilled when he saw the fliers go out for the club. He'd put a lot of work into the place—and forced Jeb to do the same to keep his younger brother out of trouble as much as he could. The place was all Doug's, but he felt a sense of pride none the less. Job well done and all that nonsense. But if Doug's putting faith in Icarus' self-worth? He might be in trouble.

"Hey, Ogre," Jay pats the aptly named bouncer on the arm as he enters, his guitar carefully juggled across his back while he makes his way down into the already filling club. Hey, 'free' is just the right price for a lot of people. Anxious fwipping of his wings, Jay smiles mildly to himself, weaving between the masses to make his way toward Doug. "Dougie," a flash of a wide smile, Jay holds a hand out in gesture to the surroundings. "Not lookin' half bad." One hand reaches up high toward the bar, trying to catch his brother's eye. "Sammy. Keepin' busy!"

Doug rests his hand on the bar, his eyes half-lidded. "All part of the plan, Sam… all part of the plan." He looks up when Jay walks in, and the corner of his mouth curves up. "As entrpreneurship goes," He says, "It's a hell of a start." He watches the Mutants — the wild, the wonderful, the… exotic, come trickling in, and he says, gamely, "Welcome to the future, gentlemen. It starts here, tonight. And so on. And so forth." Then he says, to Jay, "You ready to go on? You need a drink first? You drink free, Cardinal."

"Cardinal? I always thought he was a redtailed hawk." Sam argues about what /bird/ Jay might take after. He pulls at the taps, filling up beers for those that arrive. "Ah can't argue with the plan, bossman. Hey Jay, gone try out a few new songs or…stickin' ta covers t'night?"

JP was that mutant that would not turn down a drink even if unconscious. The cajun had swagger he drank diesel and shat James Dean all before breakfast. There was a low whistle looking around the place with a nod. It was Sam he knew though and this his destination veered. "Sammy, You did me right lettin me know abou' this."

Jay shoots an amused smile his brother's way while the two older mutants debate on which fine feathered friend he takes after. "So long as folks stay away from the obvious 'bluejay' Ah'm fine with whatever they wanna call me." Inhaling a deep breath to stretch away any of the remaining butterflies, Jay nods to Doug. "You keep the business side goin' and I'll keep the music flowin, Dougie. S'what Ah'm here for. Drink ain't a bad idea, though. Better to stick to water for the throa—"

Jay stops midsentence, eyeing his bartending brother with an air of vague mischief. Shouldering in to the bar beside Doug, Jay smacks his palm down on the bartop he made Jebediah painstakenly oil and polish, fixing Sam with an angle of a smile. "Bartender, pour me a drink. Ah got shit to do, so make it quick." For an instant, his eyes dance with humor, trying to keep the shit-eating-grin off his face.

Not to miss an opportunity to actually boss his big brother around a little, Jay turns that lance over to JP when he strolls his slick self in. "Oh, hey, it's you…"

"Well I mean he might be a raptor," Doug says, "Because unless he's REALLY shy about it I don't think he has an oil gland—"

Then he turns to Jay with a little smile. "Naw, I wouldn't think of it. Wow us, Jay. Show Mutant Town what you can really do."

JP winked to Jay pointing a fingergun that way. He boggled at the reference Doug made, "Raptor? I don' think he got them lil' stubby arms tho." Like a stray cat that moved in he reached over to pinch Jay's wrist between two fingers to lift it jsut a titch before making his own t-rex like gesture back at him giving Doug a shake of his head.

"He doesn't have an oil gland is about the nerdiest, unsexy sentence I ever heard." Sam chuckles and then looks at Jay with equal amusement. Its here that Sam also shows what a Kentucky boy he is, as he takes on an accent that is MUCH heavier, and possibly…immitating poor, black people. Oh Sam. "Ah…Yessir, yessir, comin' rai up."

Jay's attention tuuuuuurns slowly in Doug's direction while he mentions the words 'oil gland'. Brows arching up high in tandem with the fluffing of every one of his feathers. "That's private business on what Ah got and don't got, Dougie. Askin' a man about his oil glands…Lord." He sighs and smiles none the less in Doug's direction. "You got it, Boss." Not batting an eyelash in the least to Sam's commentary, except to chuckle. "Ray'd smack the flavor out yer mouth fer that." But Jr. ain't here, is he, now.

Getting his wrist pinched, Jay angles the light smile he was holding on to in JP's direction. His wrist manipulated easily, he whispers a chortle and stretched his arm out in an emphatic lack of t-rexing, flexing the limb for a joking moment. "All man, there. An' good thing for it. This place needed some elbow grease after Jack moved out."

"I really think we should encourage your brother's sassy streak." Doug opines. He pauses, and then when Jay heads for the stage, he puts his finger over his mouth at Sam, and then hops over the bar—he kneels down, and then opens a cabinet under the bar… before he takes out a small recording setup and parks it in a discrete, dark spot. He puts his finger over his mouth, and winks at Sam.

…Jay Guthrie at the Club Atomic, opening night. Live on that new-fangled medium, all of three years old… Cassette Tape.

JP chortled to Sam, "I dunno, I could disagree dependin how that played out." Of course Gearhead was biased about oil and anything. There was a grin and JP made tiny raptor swats at Jay for a moment before the junker in the leather jacket slapped Sam's shoulder withthe back of his brusied knuckles. "Who you frien' here?" To anyone else he might sound a dash tipsy, for Doug's sake it's native French Creole. "Hey any frien' of Sammy's is good by me. JP. Most call Gearhead." He held out that bruised, roughened hand to Doug glancing to the recorder and back arching an eyebrow. "Or hey stop tha' guy." He didn't bring up the device or the ruse.

Cannonball doesn't miss a beat or bust Dougy, just yet. "Yeah lets leave glands out of it. Hey…this is Dougy..he owns the place, JP. Dougy, JP, a friend of mine. Hey, JP, over here a bit. Ah think he's doin' some…tech-y thing to record mah brother." He scoots over and gets JP a beer drafted as he leans against the bar with his hip.

Jay waits for his drink and winks at Sam, toasting it in his broom-head brother's direction. "Ah'm thinkin' start out with somethin' recognizable to get folks movin'. When everyone's good an' happy, throw in some new stuff. You know, like gettin' Lewis t'eat his carrots."

The comment from Gearhead over the sexiness of oil glands and all earns a shy angle of a smile, brushing it away with a breathy chuckle and a quick dap of his wing to JP's raptor attack arm. "Raght, well then on that note, Ah got stuff to do or the boss'll yell at me." Jay does indeed head off toward the stage, the tall feathered cluster of red like a neon PC arrow pointing down on him as he moves through the crowd.

"Yeah. Cassettes are going to be the next big thing, they're going to hit the market bigtime in Europe this year. One of the benefits of the silent partner in this place being a massively connected billionaire." Doug says. "They don't have the same sound quality as Vinyl, but think about this" He says, "Music that you can *carry around in your pocket*. It's brilliant, isn't it? And when the time is right, it's gonna make that kid, right therefamous in ways he's only dreamed of. He's gonna be able to buy your mother that huge house she claims she doesn't want."

Doug looks up, and then says, "All right folks, here we go." He quietly turns the recorder on, aims the pickup at the stage, and then leans against the bar next to it, with his arms crossed.

JP looked ever helpfully to Sam like he's doing the guy a favour, "We don' wanna upset mama. As a favour to her? parce que et seulement parce que je la respecte?" He let that part gloss over Sam, "I will take on that burden for her." OH it pained him to do so, but the guy could probably convince Betsy Ross to sew a beignet into her quilt instead of a ring of stars. Still it confused him not that he had a stake in it when he asked Doug, "He wan' be all famous? Make tu frere a bigger target." Of course this was from a guy spending half his free time running from cops.

"Ya know I dun understand any a that French shit." Sam drawls out with a dimpled grin, nodding to Jay and lifting someone else's beer at him in a toast. Then he looks back to JP. "You callin Dougy our mama?" He squints an eye. "He's just the Boss…and we Guthries are all the muscle in this place, all the workin' it needs." He thumbs at his chest. "Or, oh wait, were you talkin about Jay earnin' us a house? Maybe so…maybe so. If anyone of us gone be famous, its gone be him."

"Soyez prudent, s'il pense que vous parlez d'impolitesse a propos de sa mere, il vous battra a moins d'un centimetre de votre vie et ne se sentira mal que plus tard." Doug says, without missing a beat. Then he looks at JP, "I don't know if you've ever heard this kid sing. Be ready for an experience you've never had in your life. If the renaissance masters had seen and heard Jay, they would've abandoned their work."

JP dimpled a wide, mischevous grin. Oh this boy was all trouble from pomeade to pavement. "Boy, I could get yo' name in the paper in a heartbeat, hmm?" Oh Sam… sdo not dare him when he has that look in his eye that promises you running from cops with a guard dog trying to gnaw at your junk with your hair on fire. Arching an eyebrow he looked back to Doug and looked him up and down chuckling, "Hell he buy me a house I'll call em whatever he wan'"

When Doug started parroting his first tongue to him there was a double take and his head shook as a nod to Jerry Lewis, "Merde. C'est la regle que je vis. Il ne serait pas mon ami s'il ne le faisait pas. Mais regarde. a. TOI! Vous pouvez juste continuer a parler comme ca!" Whatever the hell Doug said to him just had JP in a good mood with amusement. When Doug started going on about some masters and such the mechanic seemed utterly confused. "What' he sayin, Sammy?"

|ROLL| Cannonball +rolls 1d20 for: 1

"No idear, JP. But…that's Doug for ya. Talks so much about smart things that I just try to look at the point right tween his eyes and nod. Course, y'all keep talkin' Frenchi and I'll have ta kick the both a y'all out. This here's America, ya know." Sam points at Doug, then JP, then eyes them both over again for good measure.

Jay's oblivious to Doug's grand plans with all the best intentions. Jay gets up on the low stage all on his lonesome with his guitar now hanging over his chest rather than his back. Drink in hand, Jay takes his time, walking the perimeter of the stage under the lights and looking a little bit like someeone's lost little brother as he sips on whatever Sam sent his way. Making himself at home in that space, his wings shiver with low-key anxiety that Doug can probably read a mile away as precisely that, but it's low-key energy. Nothing to worry about.

Eventually, the red-headed young man comes back to the forward part of the stage where the mic stand sits all by itself. Leaning in and making sure it's on, Jay's voice picks up with astounding quality on a cheap mic while he pulls as much reverb out of his tone as he can—thank you, Kaleb. Aggressively southern, Jay introduces with gusto he is not typically known for, "Good Evenin' brothers an' sisters, movers an' shakers, trouble an' the makers, an' welcome to Club Atomic!" Jay smiles mildly, taking a final drink off his glass as he pivots away to set the glass down on his stool. His free hand waving the crowd up, encouraginly for when he comes back to the mic. "Oh, come on, y'all. Ah know you got more than that in you tonight. Let's try that again an' try not to be so timid. Mah granny ain't livin' upstairs after all. Ah said 'Welcome to Club Atomic!' Who's ready t'have some fun?"

The low-key anxiety melts back and Jay owns the space he's been given with a confident fillip of his wings behind him, shoulders squaring and casting a slanted smile out across the bar as he gets a few more shouts and claps from patrons. "Okay, okay, Ah'll take it," Jay chuckles in a whisper, dipping his head sympathetically. "Ah know, y'all are a little tired after the holiday shake down. S'alright, me too. Me too. Well, folks, mah name's Jay Guthrie and it is mah distinct pleasure to welcome y'all back after closin' down ol' Jack's—they say y'can't but a shine on shit, but what do you folks think? Lookin' pretty shiny now, ain't it?" He laughs encouragingly, soft and mellow under his breath while he starts to strum and tune up his guitar.

"Just wanted to take a moment t'thank all of you for comin' down tonight. Supportin' yer community, supportin' the good ol' M.T., an' most of all, though he's allergic to the spotlight, supportin' Mister Dougie Ramsay back there." Jay points back toward the bar at Doug. "Go ahead and buy that man a coke an' while yer at it visit mah brother Sam behind the bar and get yerself a beer and a dose of southern hospitality. Just hold on to yer date because Daddy's charm rubbed off a little too much on that one. Ah'm warnin' you now." Jay smiles like a warm summer day, dipping his head to try to hide it, peeking through his hair and into the lights where he imagines Sam might be standing. Fingers idly strum along his guitar, playing a couple cords in quick jumps to stretch.

Doug crosses his arms, and then says, "Sam, you're lucky you're cute." He pushes himself up onto a stool, and grins at anybody who turns to look at him, before he swirls his finger around in a circle and points it back at the stage. "Eyes up there, people," He says, before he sips his coke, and reclines. "Because this is gonna be good."

JP shook his head as all of Sam's lack of translation was shared by teh Cajun. When he was challenged by Sam to speak 'Murican' and not his own tongue of COURSE there was that impish grin that appeared on his stubbled face "Ce n'est pas ce que ta mere m'a dit, Sammy." Oh it was said sincerely with a nod of agreement. Sure, Sam. We'll do as you ask the tone seemed to suggest. There was was an air smooch to punctuate the statement but Jay was on and the tete e tete halted. When Jay was done announcing it was met with a sharp trilled whistle from the Gearhead with two fingers in his mouth in a sound of support.

|ROLL| JP +rolls 1d20 for: 10

Cannonball tiiiillllts his head and squints his eyes skeptically at JP, but looked to his brother to support him when the show started. He lifts his rag when he's mentioned, waving a little back through the backlit room at Jay, if he can see him or not.

"Is he blushin'?" Jay asks the crowd in a falsely confidential murmur. "Y'all gotta tell me if he's blushin', y'know. That's how this works, Ah can't see way back there with the light, y'all." Smiling warmly down at his guitar while he starts up. "It's a give an' take. We're partners in crime, now. Aaaaall friends in here. Speakin' of, Ah don't know about anyone else in here, but Ah'm excited as all get out fer a show comin' up next week an' Ah know that our man back there's a fan, so let's get goin'."

Jay's on his own without the full accompaniment of a band behind him, so he's done some able substitution here with his guitar rather than cool keyboard, but as he closes his eyes and slinks in against the mic like he intends to make it breakfast in the morning, the song is recognizable. With swagger to it, Jay doesn't bother to mimic an exact replica of the songif they wanted to hear the record, they got a juke box for thatit's his voice and his spin, clear as a bell. The song kicks itself into gear and the lower harmony comes in as the tempo drives forward, giving it volume and some spirit. Still just the one man, harmonizing with himself, eyes still closed and rocking with the song behind the mic while he gets into it. Wings flutter as emotional extensions of the angel-imposter while he digs in to the music, pulling energy out of it.


Immediately following, without more chatter, Jay lets his guitar hang and pulls a harmonica from his pocketbecause the southand rolls into a second song, bereft of words.


JP could be bought to shut up if you put a drink in his face. For Doug's benefit JP seemed to know that he was cruisin for a bruisin, and judging by the state of his hands welcomed such a thing. Still, and perhaps more so, there was the promise of having a good time with no harm and no foul. "Heeeey,He pretty good."

"I wasn't kidding man…" Doug holds up his hands. Then he sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Right, right. You know all the guys who made all them pretty statues and paintings and music of all the bible stuff in…" He sighs, "Eye-tally? Well if they had seen Jay and heard him perform, they would've thrown down all their stuff and said 'Nope, can't beat that!'"

Then, when Jay proves it, and Doug grins, slowly. "The Zombies. I think I went and planted a seed in this boy's head when I got him that record."

He makes sure the pickup is aimed straight at Jay.

"He's pretty good? He just sang the melody and the harmony parts for 'She's Not There' all by himself! He's phenomenal!"

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