whiskey, smoke and aces high

It's too bad. When did it get cool to be so sad? We're spinnin' backwards, did we all go mad?
Yeah, we're only human but w?'ve got hands and hearts and noses,
So stop and sm?ll the fucking roses

With his guitar packed away, Remi tosses on a jacket and flicks off the light of the closet dressing room. Shouldering open the back door, he nods a polite goodbye to one of the bouncers who is muttering something under his breath about calling the cops; apparently, some new guy is beating up one of the regulars. It's that last little bit of information that has Remi stopping and spinning around. "New guy? That wouldn't be...the one with the leather jacket, would it?" Both relieved and not to hear that yes, that's precisely the sort of idiot who is about to find himself hauled off in the back of a squad car, the musician fishes in his wallet and pulls out a crumpled bill (the only one in there, as it happens). "He's an old friend from school. A real idiot. How about I take him home and we forget this whole thing ever happened?"

The look on the bouncer's face all but suggests that Remi has about 30 seconds to make this happen. He pockets the money anyway.

"Hey—" This would be a great time to have something to call blue eyes other than Hallway. "...Pe...ter." Pushing his way through the growing crowd (were there more people here, than had been watching him?), Remi reaches out to snag part of Ronin's jacket and haul him back. "Good to see you, man. That's our cab up there." Each word is punctuated ever so slightly with a tone of take the fucking hint.

The bouncers start to close in, one already raising a cellphone to his ear.

ThE RoCkStAr