Gin Mills and the Goods

Piano Lessons

"--you're not magically a heeler, just 'cause you had a few weeks off. You don't need to practice! You dance fine."

"What time is the club empty ?" Tedros repeats, louder this time. Beatrix groans.

"From about 4. If I can hear you from here, I'll come out and wring your neck."

"Ish kabibble." Tedros turns to leave, then catches Beatrix grinning and glances back. "What?"

"You're startin' to talk like us."

"For purposes of blendin' in only." Tedros dismisses.

"Sure, baby. Think you're takin' your cues from the boss."

"She's not been here for at least two weeks, how the hell can I be?"

"Oh, we're keeping count now?"

Tedros glowers. Beatrix cackles and slams the door in his face, leaving him to grumble his way down the corridor. She made fun, but he knew they were all keeping a nervous eye on how long the boss had been away. The longer she spent on a single issue, the worse it was, Dot had muttered to him a few nights ago whilst Sophie took an extremely brief call from Lady A. No one was exactly sure what she was doing, apart from maybe Hester and Sophie, but last they'd heard, she'd been in Chicago with one of her more remote contacts. It didn't add to the atmosphere of the club, which had become markedly more subdued after the Gavaldon raid; the password had changed multiple times in a week, and the bartenders were all on high alert. Most of the patrons kept coming, but they came in smaller groups, through more than one entrance, and the spa above the club had taken on more erratic opening hours.

So it had fallen to the flappers and the musicians to keep the mood up. The first few performances Tedros had been back for, that had been easy; his popularity had meant that his reappearance had resulted in hollering, hysteria, and a huge spike in profits for a week or so, but once the novelty had died down, Tedros and the rest of the flappers had been forced to dance harder, sing better, and stay in the bar longer, in order to keep spirits high. He'd enjoyed it more than he'd anticipated, though; it provided an odd sense of camaraderie amongst the whole of the club, and Tedros was feeling less and less of an outsider as the days went on. Yara's enthusiasm about being under his instruction helped as well, he supposed; Gavaldon had gotten to know him, and he'd gotten to know them.

But the tension isn't going away, and Tedros is unable to shake the distinct impression that it's at least partially his fault.

So now, at 4am on the dot, he heads down the corridor towards the now empty club, intending to help, by doing the one thing he's never needed to do; practice. Because to keep the club stable, they need to be good. Really good. Better than they've ever been.

(And, also, Tedros is starting to worry that he won't actually be better than Yara for much longer, and his pride is creeping up on him.)

Despite his burning eyes, Tedros shoulders open the door to the speakeasy, and pauses minute, staring at the quiet bar. There's a few lamps burning on the tables, and a couple at either end of the bar, but other than that, it's dimly lit and oppressively warm. The stage is almost in complete darkness. He can just about see the gleam of the piano ivories, grinning at him from the shadows.

Sighing, he shuffles onto the dancefloor, trying to ignore the burning in the soles of his feet from wearing heels for far too long, and wonders what he should do. Maybe put a song on the gramophone? But then again, he'd prefer not to have to fight with Beatrix. Too late (early?) for that. Maybe just some steps, then. Or he could practice that turn he keeps getting wrong...