miller.

Boat Pants sidling up near his stool answered most of his questions.  First, that this was the Blaine dude he was supposed to meet.  Second, that those were indeed boats and he hadn’t imagined it.  Miller’s throat emitted a low noise as he wrapped up the last of his cigarette so he could crush it out.  He turned with a quick stream of smoke out to better assess the guy with a quick passage of dark eyes behind the darker rims of his glasses.  “Yeah.  I think I follow.”

“You play here often?  Seems like the people know you.”  His head jerked at the adoring fans still smiling and raising their glasses as if they were closely related.  One woman even looked like a proud smiling parent.  Jesus.

Not that Miller was here to judge.  He lived a life of relative anonymity.  It was precisely what he preferred.  And he was pretty damned good at blending in when he wanted to.  In fact, his ability to occasionally vanish into the crowd was downright supernatural.  Not that he wasn’t without his own notoriety among his peers.  The psychic emptied his shot glass and slapped it down on the bar.

“This bar is way less haunted than it looks like from the outside.  Is it one of those new trendy places where they made it appear more vintage than it actually is?  Because a place with this much weathering on the wallpaper normally has a spook or two attached.”

When he started talking about ghosts it usually turned off people’s interests fast.  So it was often a tactic he used to test the waters.  The worst that could happen was that Blaine would return to the piano and he would go find a cab.  Either way, he got a couple of drinks out of the occasion already.  “You ever seen one?  A ghost?”

Yes.  Those were, indeed, boats.  Little white sailboats against a navy blue background.  On his legs.  Blaine hooked the edge of his shoes against the rung of the chair as he made himself comfortable by stealing the seat next to the tall, lanky guy he barely knew.  Not one for cigarettes, he watched as the smoke disappeared overhead then glanced over his shoulder at the crowd.

A brow lifted and he smiled towards them before glancing back.  “Five nights a week.  Six if I have nothing else to do.”  Which happened to be most of the time lately, but he wasn’t going to point that out just yet. Might as well not come off as a complete loner (as voluntarily as it was most of the time) right off bat.  “So, yeah, a lot of them know me.”

Bewilderment filled his expression, turning his brows towards one another and his eyes squinted at their corners.  A spark of interest lit them up at the peculiar question.  “Um.  I think it’s as old as it looks but far as ghosts?”  Yes, his voice dropped a fraction when he said the word though he failed to recognize it consciously.  

“I think Joe,” he gestured towards the old man with the round belly and thinning gray hair/mustache behind the counter who caught the subtle flick of Blaine’s fingers and shot them both a wave–and Miller a side-eye, “would intimidate them into staying away.  If they aren’t a paying customer.”

Grinning as he shrugged Joe’s supicious glance off–a huff of laughter and a shake of his head later, he whispered a rushed apology.  “Sorry. He warms up eventually,” then switched gears back to their conversation flawlessly, “Have a I seen a ghost?  Umm..”  Olive skin dusted pink over his cheeks and nose.  “No? I don’t think so..  Why?  Have you?”  And look!  Two sets of toes dipping in the water!  But, like Miller thought, what was the worst that could happen?