The song ended, as did another, and yet another, and before Serge knew the night had flown by and come to a close and the sound of applause was drowned out by the confusion raging through his mind. It was fear that quickly replaced confusion. Had the blonde boy just been a guest star after all? Did something happen to him? Did Serge just imagine the boy?
Horrified by his thoughts, and not allowing himself to think rationally about the situation, or even consider the song that had been cut from the performance, Serge got up from his seat and darted into the crowd, trying to find Watts. He finally located the large man standing up and clapping near the side of the room, and he almost ran straight into him, catching himself on Watts' arm with a gasp that cut through the applause.
"Ho, boy!" Watts exclaimed, startled, his words ending in a laugh as he clapped his hand over Serge's smaller one. "Hello, Battour! You did positively wunderbar, my boy! Absolutely--"
"Thank you, yes, th-thank you sir, but, I need to ask you something," Serge said frantically, his hair disheveled and eyes wild to give him the appearance of a madman for just a moment, before he caught himself and let out a steadying breath. Watts looked a bit alarmed, and that was the last thing Serge wanted. "Um, I... a-actually, never mind," Serge quickly said, shaking his head and offering a nervous smile. "I'll ask you later."
"Eh... well, okay, herr Battour..." Watts echoed after a quickly retreating Serge, and he frowned slightly, a little perturbed. He watched as Serge went back towards the piano to sit down, and he shrugged slightly, turning back to talk to a man beside him.
Serge stared at the piano key cover for a long moment, his hands tight on the edge of the bench. What was he thinking? He couldn't just ask a question like that for no reason. 'Hey, do you know where that pretty blonde dancer went?' Serge blushed in shame at the very thought of Watts knowing he... Serge swallowed roughly, and was the furthest thing from prepared for the arm that wrapped around his neck in a friendly but somehow menacing fashion.
"You learn music fast, my schnell braun Fuchs," a rough voice attempting to sound smooth grated against Serge's ear, and the smell of smoke followed it, making Serge cough. The lanky, older boy let out a delighted cackle, and his hand hooked under Serge's collar, thumbing it gently. "Oh, you don't like cigars? And here I thought I'd had a chance..."
"Wh-who... stop that!" Serge snapped, slapping the boy's arm away and standing up, all on alert. "Do I know you, sir?!" Serge trailed off, blinking as he realized the boy was one of the dancers, and he straightened up, eyes widening. "Oh, god, I'm terribly sorry for hitting you," he stammered. If this got back to Watts... it could mean his job. But the boy just laughed, cutting Serge a sly side-eyed glance from his almost black irises.
"Jack Dren, charmed," the boy, Jack, introduced himself with a bow, then straightened up with a loose smirk on his face. "And forgive me, Fuchs, but you couldn't hurt me if you tried. Not with that getup. A waistcoat? In this temperature? Has the heat gone to your head?" Jack chuckled, sauntering closer and reaching out to take Serge's tie in his hands, playing with it just roughly enough to make Serge frown. "You ought to step out of some of that..."
"I'm not interested," Serge quickly said, pushing Jack's hand away with a bit more care this time, and Jack gave him a bored look, then sighed through his nose and shrugged.
"Very well, very well, little Fuchs. You deny me a great pleasure; I've never had a gypsy before." Serge frowned at the word, and he glanced away, before meeting Jack's eyes with a challenging look, his fists clenching and shoulders squaring in indigence.
"And you won't have one. Not until you buy a better brand of cigars," Serge added with a snort, and Jack's eyes went wide with delight.
"Aha! Ahaha, oh, what a playful thing! I like you, Fuchs--"
"It's Serge, herr Dren. Serge Battour is my name."
"I don't care. You look like a fox, you know? Fuchs it is. Regardless, if you're our new pianist, I may just have to dance a little closer to the stage, hm?" Jack said, leaning closer to Serge and grinning, and Serge offered a smile of strict politeness. The smell of cheap smoke was getting to him, and this boy was easily a few years his elder, and at least a head taller. Intimidated and a little disgusted, it gave Serge time to realize that he could use this to his own favor.
Horrified by his thoughts, and not allowing himself to think rationally about the situation, or even consider the song that had been cut from the performance, Serge got up from his seat and darted into the crowd, trying to find Watts. He finally located the large man standing up and clapping near the side of the room, and he almost ran straight into him, catching himself on Watts' arm with a gasp that cut through the applause.
"Ho, boy!" Watts exclaimed, startled, his words ending in a laugh as he clapped his hand over Serge's smaller one. "Hello, Battour! You did positively wunderbar, my boy! Absolutely--"
"Thank you, yes, th-thank you sir, but, I need to ask you something," Serge said frantically, his hair disheveled and eyes wild to give him the appearance of a madman for just a moment, before he caught himself and let out a steadying breath. Watts looked a bit alarmed, and that was the last thing Serge wanted. "Um, I... a-actually, never mind," Serge quickly said, shaking his head and offering a nervous smile. "I'll ask you later."
"Eh... well, okay, herr Battour..." Watts echoed after a quickly retreating Serge, and he frowned slightly, a little perturbed. He watched as Serge went back towards the piano to sit down, and he shrugged slightly, turning back to talk to a man beside him.
Serge stared at the piano key cover for a long moment, his hands tight on the edge of the bench. What was he thinking? He couldn't just ask a question like that for no reason. 'Hey, do you know where that pretty blonde dancer went?' Serge blushed in shame at the very thought of Watts knowing he... Serge swallowed roughly, and was the furthest thing from prepared for the arm that wrapped around his neck in a friendly but somehow menacing fashion.
"You learn music fast, my schnell braun Fuchs," a rough voice attempting to sound smooth grated against Serge's ear, and the smell of smoke followed it, making Serge cough. The lanky, older boy let out a delighted cackle, and his hand hooked under Serge's collar, thumbing it gently. "Oh, you don't like cigars? And here I thought I'd had a chance..."
"Wh-who... stop that!" Serge snapped, slapping the boy's arm away and standing up, all on alert. "Do I know you, sir?!" Serge trailed off, blinking as he realized the boy was one of the dancers, and he straightened up, eyes widening. "Oh, god, I'm terribly sorry for hitting you," he stammered. If this got back to Watts... it could mean his job. But the boy just laughed, cutting Serge a sly side-eyed glance from his almost black irises.
"Jack Dren, charmed," the boy, Jack, introduced himself with a bow, then straightened up with a loose smirk on his face. "And forgive me, Fuchs, but you couldn't hurt me if you tried. Not with that getup. A waistcoat? In this temperature? Has the heat gone to your head?" Jack chuckled, sauntering closer and reaching out to take Serge's tie in his hands, playing with it just roughly enough to make Serge frown. "You ought to step out of some of that..."
"I'm not interested," Serge quickly said, pushing Jack's hand away with a bit more care this time, and Jack gave him a bored look, then sighed through his nose and shrugged.
"Very well, very well, little Fuchs. You deny me a great pleasure; I've never had a gypsy before." Serge frowned at the word, and he glanced away, before meeting Jack's eyes with a challenging look, his fists clenching and shoulders squaring in indigence.
"And you won't have one. Not until you buy a better brand of cigars," Serge added with a snort, and Jack's eyes went wide with delight.
"Aha! Ahaha, oh, what a playful thing! I like you, Fuchs--"
"It's Serge, herr Dren. Serge Battour is my name."
"I don't care. You look like a fox, you know? Fuchs it is. Regardless, if you're our new pianist, I may just have to dance a little closer to the stage, hm?" Jack said, leaning closer to Serge and grinning, and Serge offered a smile of strict politeness. The smell of cheap smoke was getting to him, and this boy was easily a few years his elder, and at least a head taller. Intimidated and a little disgusted, it gave Serge time to realize that he could use this to his own favor.