Disclaimer: Rock & slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse & Touchstone.
Jack found himself liking Lance as they ran through a few songs together. He'd even go so far as to admit to himself - and himself alone! - a grudging respect for the other man's talent. He sat out one piece which the other had written and composed himself. Vixerunt was the name, one in memoria of friends who'd passed on. Jack nodded his head in appreciation at the last notes. But, before he could comment aloud, the door opened and Arthur stepped in.
Lance scowled and bent his head to go back to his guitar, while Jack noted with interest the glare directed at him. He grinned brightly in return at which Arthur looked at Lance and spoke in a clipped tone.
"You need to sign some papers."
"Isn't that left to Guin now?"
There was much to be read in the flatness of his reply. Jack looked into the bottom of his glass, trying to seem uninterested at the curt exchange. Lance's manager certainly didn't look pleased at having an audience.
"You've still got signing power with contracts, Lance. You know that."
The man suddenly whipped his head about and spat out something in a foreign tongue. Welsh or Gaelic, Jack mused to himself. Whatever it was, Arthur understood and though his face didn't change in expression, Jack saw his whitened knuckles and the death grip on the door knob.
"Let's get this done."
Without another word, the man turned on his heel and left. Jack thought it wise to keep silent as his rash companion hit a stack of music sheets, sending them flying. After a moment, Lance sat back in his chair and smiled wanly at him in apology.
"I've got a temper."
Jack just nodded in sympathy, pouring himself and the other some rum.
"At the outs with your manager, aye?"
"You could say that." Lance shrugged.
"Something to do with the bit of fluff singing for you?"
The other man blinked at him in disbelief. Jack smiled.
"No need to say a word. It's always about a woman. Been in this business long enough."
"If you really think I like that harridan-"
"Never said anything about you liking the woman, did I, oh knight in tarnished armor?"
"He's straight," Lance retorted bitterly.
"Aren't they always?" Jack replied with a thin smile, holding up his glass in toast.
He wondered why instead of Bootstrap, Norrington's face came to mind. Smile widening, though still bereft of humor, he swallowed down the rest of his drink.