And All That Jazz

It was time for a night out. With Zulime, it was always time for a night out. She had trained today with a partner that was more than willing to tussle with her, and studied up on her Japanese. The Riverboat Queen felt that she had more than earned a night on the town, as if that was a high bar to cross over. So here she was with a glass of fine French wine in her, marching towards the piano. Her silvery white dress swished from side to side as she walked towards the instrument, and her heels hardly made a noise as she walked across the floor. The Riverboat Queen was wearing a dress that was a little bit more conservative than what she would otherwise wear, but she was in a jazz club. She had to class the place up.

It was open mic night, and Zulime had heard nothing but good things about this place. From what she could tell, the clientele were a little bit older, and their wants and needs were a little bit more well defined. Zulime appreciated that. When she saw something she wanted, she went right up and took it. She sat down at the stool and swung her legs around with elegance. It had not been that long since she had been plopped on the stool in the riverboat's dancehall, and she knew more than a handful of tricks.

Zulime started playing a haunting yet swinging tune with gusto. The crowd's taste had not been refined like Zulime's had, and they could not quite tell how talented Zulime was. She was good enough to impress the drunks on the boat, but there was little chance she was going to burn down Carnegie Hall. Still, the denizens of the club nodded along as Zulime played her way through the piece.

She looked down at the keys, finding some space in the music for improvisation. The little flourishes were beginning to take the composition to the next level, and Zulime started looking around the room again. She could hardly make out any faces through the thick cigar smoke, but she could tell that there were quite a few of them who liked it. A wicked smile spread across her face.

A night out? "Pourquoi pas..." After all, Patrice was in Japan now. The country's nightlife, especially in places such as Shibuya was world-famous, and exploring it would probably be quite an experience itself. It was perfectly justified. To be honest, it would be justified for multiple nights in a row. And even if she would only be hitting the local area tonight, it would still be a good chance to get some attention, and hopefully make some new friends.

For getting attention, the attire was the key. That was something Patrice knew very well. And she loved it. Dressing up in different outfits had always been close to her heart. Not to mention the fact that since being a teenager, she had noticed the fun of showing off her body as well. She was very aware that it was eye candy to many, and that was just another form of attention close to her heart. And even if the attention started taking some nastier forms, well, she knew how to wrestle.

Patrice Juillet:

So tonight Patrice decided to wear wine red. She had to admit, the outfit in question was quite scandalous even for her own taste. But tonight was all about getting noticed in the local area, and that was something her attire of choice would definitely achieve. And besides, tonight she wanted to party.

Having left good taste safely at home, Patrice was now heading down the street. The first place to catch her attention had apparently been an Irish Pub. "Uh, those places are everywhere..." She knew what there would be. A bunch of middle-aged men drinking beer and probably watching football. But the second establishment she had found was turning out to be much more interesting. The sound of a piano had been audible already to the front door. The clientele seemed to be on the wealthier side. And they were dressed classy.

Exactly the reason why she should go there to shake up things a little.

Ignoring the glances at her outfit by the bar, Patrice was soon exploring the area with a glass of champagne in her hand. Smiling amicably to everyone, she couldn't help getting caught in the jazzy tunes of the piano. The melody was really creating a unique atmosphere, one that was really pleasant. She did feel a bit sorry for the player though. "Oh, that poor girl must probably play all night... I hope she gets paid well..."

Patrice was going to dance tonight. She hadn't been planning to do it in a jazz club, but hey, why not. There seemed to be a perfect opening between the crowds to show off some dance moves, and those were something she definitely how to perform. So she started dancing. The combination of her dress and the moves worked like magic. There was instantly a crowd around her. Some were openly watching her, some were pretending they weren't. But she could see they were. The thick cigar smoke was causing the bystanders to actually become quite close to her, betraying everyone's actual intentions. And that gave the perfect opportunity to flirt with some older gentlemen. Being a natural talent in acting, Patrice knew exactly what kind of behavior they would like.

And yes, they liked her. A lot. So she would keep on showing off her seducing dance moves, enjoying all the attention she was getting.

The ivory called to her. She was focusing intently on the keys now, massaging them for all they were worth. Zulime was not the best musician in the world, but when she got the feeling, it overwhelmed her. She was a woman of great and terrible passions, and her passion was exploding musically. She was focusing now, with the smile on her face replaced by one of sheer concentration. The melody was her muse, and Zulime ruminated on it, exploring all parts of it, up and down, left and right, until she was totally satisfied. She looked up for a second, noticing that someone was dancing. The Riverboat Queen's Focus returned to the piano, and she was playing her heart out now.

Zulime looked up, to see people more than nodding along now. They were snapping, swaying, and looking at the girl dancing. Zulime turned her attention back to her. For a second, Zulime could hardly believe it. She had seen many things in her time in Japan, but she had never seen anything quite like this. This woman was wearing an outfit that was little more than absolute nothing, and she was getting all of the attention that Zulime rightly deserved. She was the one playing the tune. All of the rich old guys with their twenty dollar drinks and fancy cigars could go stuff themselves, as far as she was concerned.

This woman, whoever she was, was not taking this seriously. It seemed to be a rebuke of who Zulime was on a fundamental level. Jazz was as much a part of her as her dark hair, and this woman used it as a pretext for nothing more than showing off for rich guys who didn't really care. This was a personal offense to the Riverboat Queen.

With a mighty flourish, she finished her piece. She gestured for one of the workers to give her a mic. Her voice was not the best, but she could carry a tune. Zulime began playing an old hymnal as fast as she could, with the riff as wide as the Mississippi River. It was hard to dance to, and she glared at the woman in the ridiculous outfit, trying to make a mockery of her passion. Zulime could play that game, and could play it just as well. If not better.

Music sets the mood. And even if Patrice was dressed suitably for a place where music was accompanied by strobos and floodlights, the night was still young. And the relaxed atmosphere of the jazz club seemed to be perfect for getting in the mood. The music was making her hips swinging and feet stepping almost without any intention, and that fact seemed to be taken delightedly by many. Based on the amount of drinks offers she was getting, staying here could allow the night to turn out surprisingly cost-effective.

But then, the music changed. Shame. The new song was still probably rather suitable for the jazz club, but for Patrice it was somewhat of a mood-killer. It wasn't that it was bad, it just wasn't really danceable. And what made it all even odder was the fact that based on the player's glances, she was definitely aware that Patrice was dancing no more.

But the gentlemen around her were still amicable towards Patrice, and she was responding to them in an equally pleasant manner. Her audience would have definitely liked to see her keeping up with the moves, so she could utilise that to set the mood back up again.

"Monsieur, please, could you go and ask that girl to play something more danceable again? It's a bit hard for me to dance to this song. The previous one was much more pleasant. Tell her that a fine lady here is longing to dance some more... Promise you'll tip the bartender next time well so she'll probably also get some of it? Please?"

Needless to say, that gentleman was promptly on his way.

Zulime watched. The woman's ridiculous twirling abated, and now all eyes were on Zulime. The Riverboat Queen did not waste everyone's attention, far from it. With the dancer defeated for the time being, Zulime's focus returned to the keys. Fire flew from her fingertips, as she stroked the ivory, demanding nothing less than the best from the instrument and herself. Zulime found herself playing with a passion matched only by the angels and demons of the world. It was as if she were trying to call down judgment day all by her lonesome, and from the look on her face it was reasonable to believe that such a thing would shortly transpire. With a mighty flourish and without missing a note, she stood up and kicked the stool behind her, so overcome by the energy she was producing that nothing else would sate her appetite for music.

She felt a tap on her shoulder shortly afterward. The Riverboat Queen ignored it. It was surely someone who did not understand the intricacies of what she was playing, the cool bass and the flaming runs. The purveyor of such a jazz club would surely recognize the skill of what she was doing, and put this parvenu in his place. Undisturbed, Zulime continued in her reverie, stoking the great flame of music with her improvisation.

Then it came again. Some older Japanese businessman inched into her peripheral view, and said something that she did not quite hear. Apparently, they did not quite understand the etiquette of a jazz club here in Tokyo. She kept banging on the piano, tryingto ignore the newfound distraction. Finally, he reached for her hands, and she could ignore him no longer. She slapped his hand away, and the lively piece of music came to an abrupt halt.

For what it was worth, the businessman did seem terribly embarrassed. He mumbled something, pointing to the woman who was dancing, and then said something about playing a different song. Zulime quietly fumed. What she was doing was art, steeped in tradition in lore, straight out of her birthplace. She, and these pervs, wants to see ass and titties. Fine. If that was what they wanted, that was what they were going to get.

But Zulime was going to get something of her own as well. As the businessman was walking away, she grabbed his jacket. Her Japanese was good enough to show her anger, she reckoned. "For me, a glass of the finest red wine they have. For the lady," she gestured with her head towards the woman she found so contemptible, "a glass of Diet Coke." It was the sort of passive aggressiveness that had become her hallmark.

Zulime put the bench back where it belonged, and threw her leg around it. She had earned the right to be the star of the show. This woman, whoever the hell she was, had to play dirty to take it from her. That consoled her as she struck up her next tune which was a dark rumination on her city's past.

No, Patrice's outfit wasn't classy. Not at all. But it was damn effective. That was proven yet again, just as another example, by the Japanese businessman's back now making its way towards the piano player. Soon enough Patrice would surely be able to get her mood back up again, with swinging hips and stepping feet.

With that thought, the blonde could turn her attention to another very fine-looking gentleman. Apparently he was a foreigner, based on his accent probably American, on a business trip to Japan, surrounded by local colleagues. In the background she could hear the music stopping abruptly - a sure sign the businessman sent for the task was executing her orders as he should have. Soon she would be dancing again, and in the meanwhile this was a perfect chance to become even flirtier with this particular American gentleman.

Caught up with that for a moment, Patrice startled when she suddenly was offered a drink. Looking to her side, it was the familiar Japanese businessman. So, not only had he managed to change the music, he was also offering drinks too! What a win-win... "Ooh, merci beaucoup monsieur, what is this, Bacardi Cola?" the blonde queried with a wink. Instead of a reply she was only getting a steady smile though, so tasting was apparently the only way to find out about the contents.

And what a disappointment that was. It was just Coke. Diet. Patrice could taste the difference. And she hated it. Seeing her face turn murkier, the gentleman providing the drink was soon trying to save his face, pointing at the piano player. "Greetings from her?" Really?

Speaking of the piano player, the music that Patrice had momentarily forgot about, hadn't really turned into any better direction. Instead, a glass of red wine had appeared on top of the piano. Now this wasn't going all too well after all. The men were promptly doing what she was asking for, it was just this piano player that appeared to be somehow dumb.

"Oh, let me go thank her..." Patrice excused herself from the company of the gentlemen, heading now towards the musician. Apparently she had to fix this situation herself. And based on the Diet Coke, she had the feeling that the girl playing the piano seemed to be having some problems with her attitude.

"Excusez-moi... There are paying customers here who would like to dance a little. So could you be somehow a little less dramatic, and just do what you're getting paid for?" Patrice stated with an obvious fake smile as she reached the piano, leaning on it rather disturbingly in a pretty direct view of the piano player. Surely her wishes couldn't be ignored now.

Zulime kept on playing. The song was a short one, but it had quite a lot of dissonance to it. Some of the harmonies were not quite harmonies. They were dark, forboding, portending some great and terrible doom to come. The lively pace she was playing it at seemed almost off. There were apparently those who appreciated the old ragtime of her birth city, as they nodded along. Zulime was not improvising much, as she felt that she had been dissuaded from going to crazy. She kept her head down for a little bit, trying to get the most out of the notes.

Then she looked up. The woman in the ridiculous outfit was now walking towards her. It looked like it was time for a confrontation. Good. Not even the best jazz music had the excitement of a fight, but she played on. Zulime brought the tune to a dramatic close just as this woman walked up.

She turned to face her head on. Up close, her outfit was even more ridiculous looking as if such a thing were possible. She opened with French. That made her tilt her head a little. Still, she listened with feign politeness. Zulime had long mastered passive aggressiveness, and was classy enough to know not to throw the first punch.

"Ah, mon amie, we are in a jazz club, not a dance club. I had assumed that people came that they may listen to jazz. Perhaps that was a mistake." She reached over and took a dainty sip of her red wine. It was perfect, she thought, and she was sorely tempted to take another. "Just as it would be nearly impossible to mistake whatever it was that you were doin' for dancin'." She took another sip. Her brown eyes did not waver from this woman. Yeah, that accent was French. Preposterously French. "And I ain't gettin' paid a dime, sugar, I am playing for the love of it. And is just anyone," she drew the word out in her Cajun drawl, "usin' the word dramatic these days? What is the world comin' to?" Perhaps she had laid the sarcasm on a little too thick, but she was not the one leaning on the piano. That was an act that she simply could not ignore.

She took one more sip of one before she placed it back down on the piano. "Sorry, honey, where are my manners," she placed her hand on her heart, and smiled a saccharine smile, "if you wanna dance, far be it from me to play a bad tune. After all, you wanna dance." Zulime then started playing the most annoying song she could possibly think of. Surely this woman would take it as an insult.

OK. Patrice might have had misjudged the situation a bit. Just very slightly. Maybe the girl playing the piano wasn't an employee. Maybe she wasn't getting paid for it. Maybe it was uncommon to dance like that at a jazz club. Maybe her outfit wasn't all that classy. Maybe her requests weren't the most suitable ones for the occasion.

Maybe the piano player still shouldn't have been such a bitch. Yeah, that was it. That was the actual problem she was dealing with right now. Patrice had been all polite, it was her who was lacking some manners.

Well, she had started off well. Mon amie was impressive indeed. A positive surprise. Too bad that everything that followed it were completely off that track.

While Zulime was busy mocking her, Patrice was pondering how to react. Normally, she wasn't one to pick up a fight. Not at least for petty reasons such as this. And there was no reason really, she could go to another place at any time she wanted to. But there was just something about the way the piano player was degrading her... And suddenly she was having a strong will for getting even with the lady.

Did she want to fight with her? No, not really. For now at least, the bitch had been acting too classy for that. Even if Patrice's outfit kind of made her have nothing to lose in that regard, the blonde still wanted to be above it. Then again, tipping accidentally that glass of red wine all over the piano? Maybe...

But then the musician turned conciliatory again. So she was going to play a better song now? Sure, Patrice could give her a one more chance. A brief and overly polite "Well, thanks!" was deemed to be a sufficient response by Patrice for that. At least for now.

But before turning back around towards the businessmen, Patrice did still have one trick up in her sleeve. Swiftly, she swapped the Diet Coke for the glass of red wine from the top of piano instead, taking a good sip of it in front of the musician. Making sure to comment "Mmm, tasty!" before heading to the other direction, at least the pianist would be left with a sour taste after making such snarky comments.

Zulime smiled down at the piano. She had won the first skirmish, in her opinion. Due to all of the things that she had said, she was sure that there was still a war to come. But for right now, she was content, mocking the ridiculous woman through words and song. The blonde woman had said something as she walked away, but Zulime was too full of herself to really pay any attention to it. She heard the groaned lamentations from the more mature patrons of the bar. Earlier, she had been respecting jazz as an art form, and now she was making a mockery of it. The moment occurred to her. She had just nearly come to blows with the woman for mocking something she loved, and now she was doing it herself.

Slowly, the song stopped. There was no reason for it to be like this. After all, she had come out to have a little fun and relax a little bit. Now it was coming to this. She looked up to find that her wine had been replaced by the Diet Coke.

And then she switched right back to fury. If this absurd French woman wanted war, then by Bondye she was going to get it. Zulime stood up from the piano, and marched behind the woman. It was not as if she were hard to follow. There was exactly one person in this bar who looked anything like her, and that was her.

She went up behind her, and tapped her on the shoulder. "You..." she started, not really sure where to being. "{What the hell? Where did you learn your manners? Did your mother not teach not to steal? Were you raised by wolves?}" Her French was quick and flawless. The hand gestures she was making her point known, and her point was that she was mad as hell.

"{Who the hell would take someone's wine?}"

So far, Patrice had kept her cool. Honestly, it hadn't been too difficult really, despite the fact that the jazz club was becoming a lousier place to spend time at an increasing pace. It had started all fun, but now there seemed to be some crazy, absurd feud developing with a random musician. Yes, she could have just left and walked away. But should she have?

If she had just walked away now, all the mingling among the wealthy patrons would have then been for nothing. And why was the pianist being so bitchy in the first place? Logical answer was that she was surely there trying to attract attention from those same patrons herself. And Patrice was probably a threat to those plans... A perfect reason for the blonde to keep herself in the artist's sight and make sure she would regret making those snarky comments on her.

And the music? No, that wasn't improving. Based on what the blonde was hearing, the musician should have probably just gone somewhere to sober up. Thank God she had taken the wine away from her. Obviously a win-win.

Soon after rejoining her affluent company, the music finally stopped. Maybe she should turn around and check what the crazy pianist was up to now?

Patrice didn't have to. There was a prompt tap on her shoulder, and turning around the blonde could see that the musician had decided to pay her a visit. Patrice was looking all surprised, the other woman appeared furious. But when she started suddenly shouting at her in perfect French - that was when Patrice's face went actually blank for a moment. That was something she could have never expected.

But Patrice was a seasoned actress as well. The surprise was nothing she couldn't overcome. While it took a moment though, her brain was quickly analyzing the situation. So how did the two appear to the bystanders? The musician was obviously very rude and mad. The other patrons probably didn't understand French, and all Patrice had to do was to keep her tone calm and polite in order to appear like the one with common sense and courtesy out of the two.

"{Do you have a problem with alcohol? I'm sorry, but it's very worrying to see someone so upset over a glass of wine... Besides, you were supposed to be playing music, right? I'm not sure wine is good for you in that case. You need a refreshment, something like Coke.}" Patrice replied to the raging musician before taking a sip of the wine again. During which, she gave Zulime's body a distinctly evaluating look, before adding a word to her drink suggestion.

"Diet."