[Tourism is a crummy business, when it's off-season. It's a crummy business all year-round, to be fair, but especially when it's summer; everything is sweltering sticky heat and blinding sun glaring off the water and sand, overpowering humidity and mosquitoes swarming everywhere. Tourism sucks, and tourists suck even worse--even if they're nice people, they tend to be unintentionally thoughtless assholes more often than not--, but at least they bring in the dough. The only thing worse than having them is not having them.
That's why Myde is playing for a mostly empty house tonight, and hoping he gets sent somewhere slightly more lively tomorrow, as if anywhere else actually is, at this time of year. Still, that doesn't mean he's not wearing a smile for what audience he does have, along with the traditional garb of his people--'his people' being the hokey entertainment brigade that no trip to Hawaii is complete without, of course--, flip flops and capris and a generous handful of leis, along with a loud, colorful Hawaiian shirt that's aggressively offensive to anyone with the slightest bit of taste.
Lea will probably hear him before he sees him, laughing and calling back to his co-workers as he pushes out through the back door of the bar, instrument case in hand.]
--luck next time, right? Good show, see you tomorrow!
[That spiky red hair is impossible to miss, though. It snags his attention immediately, especially because he hadn't realized any customers were out here tonight. Myde stops dead in his tracks, blinking hard and surreptitiously digging a nail into his hand to make sure he isn't seeing things. Nope, this seems pretty real--that sure is Axel in the hot tub. That sure is one of his other co-workers, from his old job, the one that ensures he's grateful for every iota of good treatment he gets from impressively non-abusive employers now. That sure is one of his superiors there, even if he was one of the only ones who was relatively nice.
In short: that sure is trouble there, lounging in the hot tub and drinking an overly-expensive cocktail, just waiting to pounce and tear his finally peaceful existence to shreds. Myde spins on his heel and moves to walk straight back through the door again, muttering to himself and hoping he wasn't spotted or recognized, knowing full well just how futile it probably is. He so doesn't want to deal with this kind of crap again..... Maybe he can beg his manager to put him in the stock room or something for a few hours.]
.....Actually, a drink before I leave is a great idea.....
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[Tourism is a crummy business, when it's off-season. It's a crummy business all year-round, to be fair, but especially when it's summer; everything is sweltering sticky heat and blinding sun glaring off the water and sand, overpowering humidity and mosquitoes swarming everywhere. Tourism sucks, and tourists suck even worse--even if they're nice people, they tend to be unintentionally thoughtless assholes more often than not--, but at least they bring in the dough. The only thing worse than having them is not having them.
That's why Myde is playing for a mostly empty house tonight, and hoping he gets sent somewhere slightly more lively tomorrow, as if anywhere else actually is, at this time of year. Still, that doesn't mean he's not wearing a smile for what audience he does have, along with the traditional garb of his people--'his people' being the hokey entertainment brigade that no trip to Hawaii is complete without, of course--, flip flops and capris and a generous handful of leis, along with a loud, colorful Hawaiian shirt that's aggressively offensive to anyone with the slightest bit of taste.
Lea will probably hear him before he sees him, laughing and calling back to his co-workers as he pushes out through the back door of the bar, instrument case in hand.]
--luck next time, right? Good show, see you tomorrow!
[That spiky red hair is impossible to miss, though. It snags his attention immediately, especially because he hadn't realized any customers were out here tonight. Myde stops dead in his tracks, blinking hard and surreptitiously digging a nail into his hand to make sure he isn't seeing things. Nope, this seems pretty real--that sure is Axel in the hot tub. That sure is one of his other co-workers, from his old job, the one that ensures he's grateful for every iota of good treatment he gets from impressively non-abusive employers now. That sure is one of his superiors there, even if he was one of the only ones who was relatively nice.
In short: that sure is trouble there, lounging in the hot tub and drinking an overly-expensive cocktail, just waiting to pounce and tear his finally peaceful existence to shreds. Myde spins on his heel and moves to walk straight back through the door again, muttering to himself and hoping he wasn't spotted or recognized, knowing full well just how futile it probably is. He so doesn't want to deal with this kind of crap again..... Maybe he can beg his manager to put him in the stock room or something for a few hours.]
.....Actually, a drink before I leave is a great idea.....