On stage, a local bad molests their guitars, screaming about getting high and how much homework sucks. If Tympan were here, it's possible the entire stage would sink into the sea like Atlantis for this particular crime against music.

Nevertheless, the crowd seems to be enjoying the non-melody and pounding beat. You can chalk it up to Kids These Days, if you're so inclined.

The band is called Death's Children. Unbeknownst to them, their namesake is sitting at the bar, watching the performance with a bemused expression.

He's tall, slender, and pale like a white crayon. Wrapped in a soft suede trenchcoat and a fashionably super-long white scarf, he looks like something out of a Swiss cologne advertisement, or possibly an especially mod colour-by-numbers. Underneat, a plain white tee and white jeans are visible. The white combat boots must have been special orders.

And the white eyes... well, contacts, of course. When you're spending money on a style, you might as well go all-out.

He taps his fingers on the bar in beat to the... well, in almost-beat to the off-beat music of the amateur band on stage.

Well, isn't he scrumptious.

Jetta is pretending to be virtuous tonight. That is, she is dressed in things that could pretend to the label 'modest,' and is not touching a drop of alcoholic... stuff. This is probably because she's pregnant and doesn't want to look it, and doesn't want Teague to scream at her for endangering his baby.

Honestly, the man is quite silly about it. It's not like he's carrying the bratling.

Anyway.

She may be pretending to virtue, but who can miss someone as... striking... as that white gentleman by the bar? How can she possibly resist making an overture or two?

Pity it can't go very far. Bah.

She slides next to him and tucks platinum blonde hair behind her ear oh-so-innocently. If it weren't for the fact that she's a bit of a regular here, she could easily pass for an innocent exploring a bar for the first time in her life.

And his eyes shift her way, lashes ratcheting silently into a new position. There's something odd about those eyes. They don't really look like contact lenses.

"Hello," he says as his lips curl into a smile. He doesn't bother waiting for her to make the first move.

As for the voice... well. It's probably just weird accoustics.

"Hello."

I swear, Jetta should have been born a cat. She hisses, purrs, and enjoys rubbing herself against people.

At the moment, she's purring.

"Divine music, isn't it?"

Heavy sarcasm, there. She's heard much better bands, although they're rarely up to her standards.

"I wouldn't exactly call it-- 'divine'," says the God, his smile broadening to a grin.

"But they called themselves to my attention, so I thought I'd come. Would you like a drink?"

"I don't think I'm allowed, honey."

Regretful, that. She rather likes getting tipsy. (Never drunk. She doesn't like being made a fool of.)

"Tch." He gives her a look-- up, down.

"It probably wouldn't be that bad for the baby."

There'd been a moment of debate whether or not he should respond to the little life she's carrying-- but it'll probably annoy her. Therefore, of course he should.

Jetta pouts.

He noticed.

"Baby?"

He spreads his long fingers, indicating her stomach. He's almost touching. There's a slight chill around his skin.

"The baby."

Grin.

"Oh, that baby."

She pouts further.

"What makes you think I'm worried about it?"

"Her."

He tilts his head.

"And you said you weren't going to drink. Therefore, you are concerned."

"Him, her, it, whatever."

She makes an annoyed face.

"I'm more concerned about its father's reaction."

"So you're concerned."

He pauses, then gives her a closer look-- but turns away shortly after, smiling.

"You can call me Az, by the way. You are--?"

"Jetta."

She decides to ignore any more bringing up of the child.

"Wherever did you get a name like 'Az'?"

It is a bit odd, you must admit.

"People just started calling me that."

Which is, in fact, absolutely true. Several thousand years ago, that is.

"Jetta isn't so common, either, is it now?"

She shrugs.

"I hadn't noticed, honey."

She calls everyone that. She ought to have a special nickname for deities of her acquaintance.