The Heckler [Bodi/open]

[Maestro]

In all honesty: this was not Maestro's crowd.

Most days, Maestro loved the Leaky Cauldron; on slow weekday afternoons he could noodle around on their piano and experiment. He could make friends, light conversation, maybe get a few free drinks in the process. Meet the regulars, who could appreciate an eccentric. Hell, every now and then if he got lucky he'd even find a friend for more private lessons elsewhere. However, there was one qualifier: weekdays. Weekends at the Cauldron were a very different story.

Weekends at the Cauldron brought a different crowd: out-of-towners, weekend warriors. People just looking for a good time, not particularly artistic music. Something to jump along to and guzzle their drinks without distraction. Maestro understood, he'd been there too. However understanding it didn't make the crowd any easier to play through.

Maestro's orchestra hummed along with a jumping rhythm. This wasn't a crowd looking for bebop. He kept it simple and fun: Ellington, Calloway. If he could convince his friend Elsie to stop by after her gig further into the Alley he could get some Fitzgerald going. Big Band was always a strain on his abilities, but if he could get the people to dance it was always worth it. He stood rather than sit at the piano, bending and moving with the music. He looked up to sing the refrain: "Heidi Hi-de-hi-de-hi!" When he held out a hand for the crowd to refrain back to him, he was met with one voice louder than the others.

"PLAY DO THE HIPPOGRIFF"

- Oh, Merlin. Here we go. Do-the-bloody-fucking-hippogriff, the song of the summer. Truly Maestro was blessed, to be constantly requested with that bloody song. There was no escape. Maestro ignored it, his head moving with the chords he pounded. "Hey-de-hey-de-hey-de-hey!"

He got a bit more of the crowd this time, but still the one voice rising above: "DO-THE-HIP-PO-HIP-PO-GRIFF!" A small murmur of laughter went through the crowd that would have barely been detectable to others not elevated by the stage and Maestro bowed his head, cowed by the reaction. He'd sung it in refrain back to him, at the very least.

Maestro finished out the song without the other refrains, meandering into a piano instrumental as he worked out what song he would play next. "Whatever it'll be, it won't be the hippogriff..." He sang along, louder than his heckler could muster from the crowd.

[Bodi Lovegood]

He could hardly believe how late he was. Bodi had one errand - ONE ERRAND - and he still couldn't make the Leaky Cauldron ahead of Maestro's first set. He blamed the Permit Witch. The perfectly perfect Permit Witch and her perfectly perfect nails. She was so concerned about nicking the garish lacquer on said nails that Bodi's Flight Acceleration Permit for tomorrow took nearly an hour to prepare. ONE HOUR. Sometimes it just wasn't worth it.

"Excuse me. I'm sorry. Pardon me..." The racer tried pushing his way through the grossly inebriated and swelling crowd, his introversion and claustrophobia beginning to gnaw like razor claws at his insides. One normally felt a sense of relief upon returning home, but Lovegood also tended to avoid the pub-level like the plague, choosing instead to use the rear entrance to access his flat upstairs. Then, Bodi caught ear of Maestro's instrumental piece. (He's so talented...) His anxiety instantly begin to subside. That man had magic...literally and figuratively...and Bodi knew he'd only have to see Maestro's face to be fully cured of the suffocating crowd. He was mere feet from the reveal of the musician's stage when a large fellow with a frothy tankard suddenly swung wide, nearly clocking Bodi in the head.

"Hey!"

Bodi's protest only elicited the smallest of responses from the burly fellow, who merely half-turned and snorted at him. What did seem to have the man's attention, however, was the stage, and his voice soon erupted with a foul-smelling demand.

"I SAID...I SAID...HIPPO-I WANT THE HIPPOGRIFF!"

Nearby guests snickered at the request, finding childish delight in the impromptu, intoxicated floor show. Bodi just found it plain rude and he prayed that Maestro hadn't heard it. He felt defensive of his friend.

"The Hippogriff? Are you freaking mad? Do you have any idea who that is on the stage? Do you have any idea how lucky we are to have this caliber of performance HERE? At the Leaky Cauldron?" Bodi cast the man an annoyed look. Why did he even bother trying to sell it. Some people just didn't know aaarrr-

"Listen, small fry..." A heavy hand wrapped around Bodi's collar as he tried to pass; the racer quickly found himself pulled back about 3 feet. "I want the Hipppp...pppogri....I WANT THE HIPPOGRIFF!"

"Then go to a pet store." Bodi tried prying the man's sweaty fingers off his jacket but he was effortlessly hauled towards the man's stained, rotund body, held in a vice grip as yellowed teeth smiled down upon him. He silently wondered if he was out of the man's vomit radius. This one was ripe. Bodi was about to use his knees when a large hand with a bejeweled watch smothered the drunkard's face and pushed him out of the way.

"No THANK YOU! Nuri would have an F.I.T and I'd have to clean up the mess! Come! Maestro's this way." Rupert Goodworthy - retail clerk extraordinaire - wrapped a solid arm around Bodi's shoulders and ushered him towards Maestro's perch, eyes daring the drunkard as they passed. "The Hippogriff, really. Are you 12?!"

[Damien Anderson]

Fate had pushed them together. Or really, a crowded pub. Damien had looked up from his beer--and up and up. The man was a giant. There was no other explanation. Though he was an extremely polite giant who spoke at a volume that was hard to miss.

"Can I sit here?"

"Sure!" Damien cleared away his empty mug, depositing it neatly on the tray of a passing waiter. He looked up as the giant shrank, folding himself neatly into a seat. He certainly was well dressed. Better dressed than half the patrons... seventy-five percent, at least.  Damien suddenly felt severely under-dressed in his tank that loudly shouted "Rock Scotland!" and khaki shorts. Nonetheless he gathered his courage and extended a hand. "Damien!" He was not blessed with voice of loud decibel and so resorted to shouting. The two shook hands firmly, Damien finding himself pleased to note that his grip was just as strong as the giant's--No, Rupert. His name was Rupert.

Suddenly Rupert disappeared, and Damien found himself quite sad at the abrupt departure of his handsome new seatmate when he returned, arm wrapped around a new man. Damien felt his heart flutter as the couple settled into seats at the table. Of course he wasn't single. He gave a little internal sigh and returned his attention to the stage. He'd never seen Maestro play before, but so far his reputation seemed well deserved.

[Bodi Lovegood]

Bodi allowed Rupert to frogmarch and drop him in to a cramped table near the stage, his attention instantly drawn to Maestro and his epic orchestra. Everything insane about the past hour dripped away and he found himself caring little of the fact that Dogwood had left his deep coat pocket to make haste towards the pianist. That wand. So social. Bodi wondered if Maestro's fan club allowed for charmed objects.

Bodi was about to remark on how amazing the musician sounded when he realized that Rupert was gone and there was another fellow at the table.  His face fell, embarrassed by his own rudeness, and he rushed to apologize to the strawberry-blonde with the most epic tank top.

"'I'm so sorry!" Bodi reached across to shake the man's hand, deftly avoiding the silly cocktails that Rupert suddenly appeared with. "I'm Bodi." He shot the man a genuine smile. "What's your name, lad?"

Rupert eyed both men carefully before giving his seal of approval.

"I'm sorry. Can I just say, this is the BEST table ever? Cosmo?" Rupert slid frosted martinis towards Damien and Bodi, pulling Bodi's away at the last second and replacing it with a glass of witchwine. "I didn't forget, silly. You and your disdain for fruity."

Bodi blew Rupert a kiss before offering the men a toast.

"To Maestro! May be make it through this set without the Hippogriff."

[Maestro]

Maestro's interlude hastened into a quick-tempoed instrumental swing piece that turned a few heads but unfortunately did not make his skeptical masses start swaying the way he wanted to. He stomped with the beat, playing louder and faster as a way of relieving his frustration. It was just then, fortunately, that a familiar friend joined him on stage.

A wide ivory smile lit Maestros face as his eyes followed Dogwood around him and he nudged his rose-tinted glasses further down his nose to look out into the crowd to find his familiar friend. Maybe a friendly face could give him a second wind?

That familiar face doubled in the presence of another form he recognized. Bodi Lovegood and Rupert Goodworthy at his show? What's more, together at the same table? How small this world could be! Maestro had been hoping to run into the genuine broom-racer and his anthropomorphic wand again, it was fortuitous that he would wind up on the arm of Rupert. And Rupert, ah Rupert: the strapping shopkeeper had come in for a drink one night and had wound up closing up with Maestro ending his performance early and spending the evening with him. It had been a lovely night, one of his favorites in his new home. It was a shame Maestro had fallen out of touch so quickly.

He could do with a chat, he figured. Maybe his friends could help him strategize a new approach to the weekend crowd. "Going to take a short break, folks, thank you." Maestro smiled warmly as he finished the song, his face only turning sour as he turned away for his pipe. He'd heard the small faction near the bar cheering his absence more than his performance and didn't appreciate their humor.

From the stage Maestro got the bartender's attention and gestured in the direction of the three men near the stage for another round; in a moment he appeared with a tray of refills for his friends and a pair of firewhiskey shots for the performer. For him, this was not the kind of night for light sipping.

"Bodi! Rupert!" Maestro popped the tailored collar on his embroidered robes as he lit his pipe, coming to lean casually on their table with a wide grin. "Thank you for coming, it's a relief to see friendly faces in a crowd like this." He huffed and a puff of smoke came out with his sigh. He pushed his glasses up into his towering curls and eyed their friend with a toothy grin. "Hello, who's this? I'm Maestro, I apologize for the tragedy unfolding on my stage."

"PLAY DO THE - where'd he go?!"

Maestro shook his head as he heard the heckler continue without him, momentarily removing his pipe to throw back a shot. "Hopeless, I tell you! I need to change gears in the second act." He scratched the shadow of a beard as he thought, listening to his companions conversation as the intoxicating smoke cloud from his pipe enveloped their table.