Chapter 4: Pumble Blues
You hang from Ahri's arms like a koala from a tree, her slender hand resting on your waist as the both of you look towards the stage and wait for Bard's performance to begin.
The colours are a bit too bright, the world a bit too fuzzy. But it is the side effects of Ahri's charms, you tell yourself, and nothing to do with the four empty shots of Zaunite whiskey behind your back.
Bard, in a tuxedo, no less, takes the stage. He is wearing aviator sunglasses and a rainbow scarf, which you had to admit looked rather out of place on a man about to make love to his saxophone in front of dozens of Summoners and Champions in a seedy downtown bar.
But then again, his management was co-held by Lulu and Rengar, and to save your brain cells you decide that it does not matter eitherway.
And indeed, it did not.
As the celestial being begins saxing away, Jhin enters with the low trumpet sounds, his lanky form dancing gaily on the stage past his stout fellow musician. Jazz becomes the duo, and you feel your insides turn mellow as Bard gives everyone a seductive glance and Jhin subtly bangs away at the same, four, soft, titillating notes, his single golden eye managing to be both welcoming and playful-sinister through his smiley mask- no doubt there Lulu had a hand.
The music reminds you of quiet nights standing over bridges, staring down at the light of the lanterns, reflected in the calm water. It reminds you of rainy days when you have some of Camille's recommended tea in a cuppa, sipping away. It reminds you of the blissful blanket of shadows that covers the rift when you have a Nocturne on your team.
It reminds you of home, of Ionia, and you let yourself lean back against Ahri's substantial breasts; using them as a sort of neck pillow.
She purrs, as she was, too, lost in the pleasure. The Pumble was turning into a crack-den, and the duo's jazzing; the drug.
All it needed was for Vi, drooling over there at a booth in the corner, to stand up and yell 'Fuck Tha Police!'. You do realise it would be most comical since the pink punk was herself a beat cop. You laugh softly, blowing strands of your hair up to tickle your nose, not because you are high- you insist, but because of Ahri's charms.
Fine. Whatever.
Jhin draws himself up to his full height and hold still, and then he disappears in a flurry of roses. Summoner Tia throws herself from her seat and collapses in a heap at the foot of the pedestal, moaning 'Jhin, jhin!'. You recognise her as one of those fanatics who believed 'ADCs in 2017' was just a joke and not an actual mockery of the sad state of marksman with the lethality changes. No one bothers to drag her away.
The stage is pin-drop silent for one second and then a few people wet themselves between the legs- you imagine- as Bard thrusts his hips against the instrument and let his sax solo begin.
'Another, please', you raise a finger in Rumble's general directions and the yordle bartender complies, preparing your concoction through highly complex automatic extensions on his Super Galaxy mech. Super Vape, more like. There is giggling near you. You take two and a half blinks to realise it is yours.
Okay. You admit. Maybe you are drunk.
But maybe it did not matter anyways. Bard let his tunes wash away his audience's concerns, let them be serenaded, let them relax.
You have a startling moment of clarity where you realise perhaps Bard wouldn't stop playing even if he stood alone on top of a mountain, a million miles away from any pubs.
People might come and go. Urgot could get some love. That, and maybe a Star Guardian skin. GarenxKata would be confirmed. The Void might invade tomorrow.
But Bard will keep saxing on.