[OPEN] No such thing as simple.

[devan engelica davenport]

Soft eyes looked over the group of locals at the bar. "Usual," She murmured, the blonde bartender offering her that familiar smile. She smiled softly back. Today hadn't been so bad, she had been called to give an angel their wings, nothing too much, too hard, to deal with.

She hadn't had to help take any souls, hadn't needed to direct them anywhere much. No visits to Satan for her.

She thought quietly over the life of the person she had sent to heaven, smiling faintly. They had been happy, old. Those things were alright, they were ready to go.

She rarely got to help those people, no. The freak accidents, the problems that required her to become more monster than anything.

Didn't matter though, once she let that side of her take over, it was like a split personality. These people, their pasts. Those were her memories. Walking through crowds and recognizing faces. When that happened, she knew she had touched somebody in their life, led them to Heaven or Hell.

She took her drink, downing it. "I have my guitar, if the stage is open."

Trez nodded and she got up, reaching for a microphone and clearing her throat. She smiled at the people that glanced her way, offered a sheepish wave. She wasn't quiet though, not at all. And soon her voice and guitar proved it enough.

[thatcher owen finley]

Thatcher looked up from where he was sitting. His eyes scanned the girl with little emotion. He never felt longing for anyone. He didn't care for anyone who wasn't Deacon. He also didn't have much more to do than to sit here, so he pushed his chair back away from the table, walking up the stage steps to her.

"I can handle drums if you need 'em." He offered, his quiet rhaspy voice not carrying far. He didn't speak much, his voice going without use for days at a time. He didn't even speak much in class. He put his hands in his pocket, waiting for her to answer. He wasn't one to offer to play drums for people, but it wasn't like anyone here knew him, or would ever see him again. "Or bass. Whatever."

[devan engelica davenport]

"Sure." She smiled up at the young man gently. Her gaze was friendly, but not searching for anything but a musical partnership for the night. She knew Trez would give her his tips since she was replacing a bailed band.

Not working for anything but Heaven and Hell itself didn't exactly help in the living world.

She finished what she was doing. "Name something you know and we'll see what magic we can work." She stretched her legs out for a moment, rubbing at a tattooed arm. Her looks didn't seem to completely fit her personality, but her smiles were genuine and true.

She enjoyed every living thing, knowing they wouldn't all be alive forever. Watching him curiously, calculated, he seemed rather quiet and closed off. Fine by her. She paused, fine tuning the guitar in hand.

[thatcher owen finley]

"I know pretty much anything.." He said with a shrug. "Do an oldy but a goodie. Something like.. Poison, Aerosmith.. Or I know a little country, if that's what you're good at.." He walked over to the drums, adjusting the stool. It had far fewer configurations than he was used to. His drums were almost endless. He grabbed a pair of sticks, popping off the little plastic ends. He drummed on a few of the drums, figuring out which ones were which. He was pretty good at picking up songs, even if he had never heard them once in his life. He could always just wing it. Pretend he knew what the song was.

"Okay, cap'n. What's the verdict?" He asked, adjusting the stool.

[devan engelica davenport]

Devan smiled faintly, waiting for him and running songs through her head. "I know country, but very little," She drawled dramatically, giving him a gentle smile.

"How about this?" She began the guitar intro to an Aerosmith song, singing softly until his could pick up, then growing bolder, drawing the microphone between them. Whether he sang or not was his own choice, her voice flawless and void of any fear or hesitation. This was obviously nothing new to her.

[thatcher owen finley]

Thatcher started drumming along to the song, playing coming as easy to him as breathing. He wasn't used to singing, but he was used to backing vocals for Deacon when he played guitar. Deacon was the one who sang; not him. Every once and awhile he would sing a random bit, playing the song as if it were nothing. When the song ended, he adjusted his stool, moving around on it a bit to get comfortable. He looked out at the people apathetically, not feeling anything towards them. Close to the back, he saw what looked like his dads, sitting there, one's hand in the other's lap. He blinked and they were gone. He took in a deep breath, looking back at the girl. He didn't even bother asking what song next. He just listened, ready to play when he recognized what it was.

[devan engelica davenport]

Devan stuck through the artist, running through songs with ease. She glanced up when the band finalky showed, standing as they finished a last song. Sliding her guitar into its case, she zipped it up and swung the strap over her back.

She smiled over at him. "Want a drink?" The way she approached it wasn't 'want a relationship?' Just some friendly pay for helping her out. Trez handed her thirty bucks over the counter.

"Name's Devan, here." She held out fifteen, shrugging, then glanced at the time. It wasn't too utterly late, but she still had to walk home, anyway.

[thatcher owen finley]

He shook his head but followed her anyways. He had had enough to drink. Enough so he was seeing dead people. He didn't think he needed much more to drink. He should get home soon, start grading papers. Maybe get a half hour's or so sleep before getting ready for school. He liked to use every bit of his day. And he needed it. He had six band classes, and lessons on the weekends. He stayed pretty busy. He pushed her money away, taking a seat next to her at the bar.

"I play 'cause I like to." He said with a shrug. He had never gotten paid to play the drums, and he didn't want to. It was just something he liked to do. No one played a kid for playing jacks. He didn't think he needed to be paid just to bang on some drums.

"Coke." He told the bartender, looking down at his fingers. He drummed them on the counter, tapping his foot on the bar stool rung.

[devan engelica davenport]

Devan shrugged, sipping at her mixed drink. She slid the thirty into her empty wallet in the purse over her shoulder. "I like just playing, but so far that hasn't landed me a job I'm good at. No job, no money, may as well take what Trez gives me."

The guy smiled at her over the counter, heading to the other end after bringing the coke. "So, you work?" She glanced over at him, stirring the toothpick in her drink before bringing it to her lips and pulling off the olive.

[thatcher owen finley]

Thatcher watched the guy with little interest. But he was a moving object, and moving objects proved to be eye catching to Thatcher. He drummed his fingers on the counter again, then they fell still.

"Yeah.." He said quietly, stirring the straw around in his drink. He rubbed his neck with his other hand, a little more tired tonight than he had been in a good while. "I teach.. Band.." He had been teaching for many years, more than he could remember. He did remember Deacon was just a little boy then. Now Deacon would be, what? A hundred and something? Back then he just taught math though. He wondered what he would be teaching in another hundred years. He didn't plan on falling in love. Ever. So he had no intentions of dying.

"Y'can always come help me." He offered. He shrugged. He didn't need the money the school paid him. His house was paid for, he ate very little, didn't use electricity much. He was probably the easiest person on Earth to please.