GIBSON.

G I B S O N.

    written by adrian (he&him)

eventually, jacob falls victim to his usual habit of wandering away from the crowd and retreating into solitude. he should’ve known that this wouldn’t be a place for him, that if anything, this evening would make him feel even more uncomfortable, even more out of place. he doesn’t belong here—here, in this crowd, here, in this city—but the worst part is that he doesn’t have a choice. he has to belong, or at the very least make it look like he does. and yet jacob can’t bring himself to care about appearances now, too swallowed up by melancholia all of a sudden. 

the empty balcony offers a welcome change, from the stuffy atmosphere of the reception room to the fresh breeze of a fall night. with an overfilled tumbler of whisky in one hand and a soon-to-be-lit cigarette in the other, he leans against the railing and looks up at the semi-clear sky; he decides he might just leave after he’s done with what’s in his hands.

the quiet moment of solitude gets interrupted the second jacob lights his cigarette. the man looms in the entryway and for whatever reason, he doesn’t have the heart to tell him to get lost. “it’s alright. enough room for the both of us.”

If Nalini was to say that she had notice Jacob was currently being accosted by someone he would rather not be speaking with, it would be a bold-faced lie. She’d long since crossed the line from tipsy to drunk, barely capable of noticing anything of the sort. The only thing that has caught her attention is the fact that Jacob is there in the first place, making eye contact with her, and she takes that as an intervention to bound over to his side. 

“Jacob!” She greets him jovially, grabbing his arm and giving it a little tug. “I didn’t even know you were here. I didn’t see you during my set,” she pouts, but she’s teasing him. For the first time tonight, she’s forgotten what’s worrying her, reaching the right state of inebriation to do so, his appearance pulling her out of her melancholy mood. Without a passing glance to the woman attempting to converse with him, she links their arms, and guides them through the crowd to the bar. 

“Have a drink with me. I feel like I never see you out of the Speakeasy. Oh! Maybe we can take it out into the gardens! I mean, when are we going to get another chance?”

.

when nalini grabs onto him and starts leading him away, jacob’s a little taken aback but absolutely grateful; he was running out of excuses to feed the woman with so nali has approached them at the perfect time. he lets himself be guided towards the bar, even though all he wants to do is suggest to her that maybe she doesn’t need another drink. neither does he, really—ever since starting at the speakeasy, jacob’s noticed that he’s lost his taste for alcohol. unless it’s a lonely swig of whisky right before bed, something to wash the day down with. the swig often turns into much more than that but does it even matter if nobody’s there to see it?

“i was there, promise. you sounded beautiful, as always,” jacob tells her. he doesn’t really know much about music, working at knock five times is probably his first real opportunity to enjoy it properly. and maybe he doesn’t know much about it but his compliments are genuine. “you really ought to be performing on bigger stages. the whole world should be listening to you.”

iris :   if your muse could convey one last message to someone they have lost or left behind ,   what would it be ?

“these particular circumstances, the man says,” connie echoes, a small bit of teasing slipping into his tone; he can’t help it, the other man just makes it so easy — and perhaps the problem with men like connie is that they will all eventually come across men like this, and they will all exactly act in the same way they are doing now. “like you’re in some kind of personal tragedy,” he can’t help but continue to remark, yet connie’s erstwhile somewhat condescending demeanour is too easily swept aside by a shrug. 

“but i understand,” he says, clearly not understanding at all. “it’s very difficult to have to deal with people.” the smile turns ever-sharper, which is to say: connie sees their chance and has absolutely no reservation throwing themself at any perceived window of opportunity. “it’s just an off day though, i’m sure,” they continue, tone almost like describing the fine work on the friezes. “being the doorman of a certain establishment should help you establish all the rapport you need with all the people here, shouldn’t it?” 

his gaze drops and the discomfort, which jacob thought was dealt with, comes back, only now prompted by the savior themselves. he feels embarrassed, yet again proven that maybe he should keep his mouth shut. or maybe it’s just the way cedric makes him feel—as if jacob should always choose his words wisely because if anyone’s going to read into them, it’s him. whether it’s for the sake of a teasing joke or something else entirely.

and so jacob isn’t sure how to navigate this conversation, not even sure whether he wants to continue it, simply because he’s had enough of feeling like a fool to last him the rest of the night, first with the woman, now with cedric. but jacob remains, braced against the melody of cedric’s voice and the message of his words. it’s a simple question, he’s perfectly capable of handling it. “i suppose so. but i don’t get propositioned like that very often,” and he’s so glad he doesn’t. “it’s all small talk out there, anyway. lots of how are you doing’s and enjoy your night’s. anyone can do that.” truth is that once upon a time he couldn’t. at some point, there came a time when opening his mouth when it wasn’t absolutely necessary came with grand difficulty to him. but then jacob landed in the heart of new orleans with a story to establish and so the old him made a reappearance, the companionable pub host everyone once knew him as. 

this right here, that’s a crack in his story and as luck would have it, it’s found by someone who’ll put a magnifying glass to it.

“what about you—enjoying yourself?” it’s all small talk. anyone can do that.