Moon Over Bourbon Street<br/>Something Wicked This Way Comes<br/>Jack the Saxophone Player, Mortal?<br/><strong>Mia Payroux, Mastigos Silver Ladder</strong><br/>August 22nd, 2005<br/>Pat O'Brien's Bar<br/><br/>The weather was beautiful.  Not much to be said from that.  Above the blue sky stretched out for infinity without a cloud in the sky.  Eyes closed to feel the touch of the air on her cheeks, a simple pleasure for a girl that seemed anything but.  Warm coffee, filled with as much Bailey’s as one could hope, brushed inside the palms of her hands.  Around her were the stubborn and the faithful, believing in the power of the levees to fight back Mother Nature.  Some might say the stupid and the foolish but Mia was one of them now.  Hard to believe that a storm of deadly proportions was spiraling toward the city at this moment.  A moment of calm and beauty, a false promise from the man on high that the world would be okay.  Mia had no illusions that remaining would be tough, but she also knew that the city would hold firm.  New Orleans was like bad grass, it never died.<br/><br/>The first true sip of her drink was passing her throat when the man sat down.  Hot coffee gave her tongue a pinch while the strong liquor gave her throat a burn.  Caffeine would soon war with alcohol to keep her up while keeping her nerves down.  Later tonight, on stage, she would switch to red bull and Yeager.  For now the coffee would do fine.  Eyes roamed over the musician before she returned to her cup.  Words fluttered past her without much reaction.  Black painted fingernails clutched the warmth as if a fire on a cold night.  Only when he finished his words with the bartender did she set the cup down.<br/><br/>“Yeah, well I don’t play for pennies and I don’t play on the street corner.  So I guess that is a difference in audience right there.  Still gotta give it up for the jazz man.”<br/>