Mad as Jazzmen |1930s Ryden AU| ✔️

-5-

Brendon shook his head.  He couldn't think straight anymore.  The ocean waves and the beauty of this little cove were almost overwhelming him.  "Not really.  My pop was workin' all the time, and my mama was too busy takin' care of my siblings.  I just kinda had to fend for myself.  I did have a good friend, though.  His name was Kenny.  Man, we did everything together."  Despite his newfound love for the city, Brendon couldn't hide the pang in his chest at the mention of his old friend.  He missed home.  He missed it dearly.

"Childhood friends are something you can never quite replace,"  Ryan remarked.  His gaze was piercing, and it almost made Brendon uncomfortable.  "But at least you have some memories to look back on.  Good memories, right?"

Brendon nodded.

"That's nice."  Ryan shifted his attention back to the ocean, back to the horizon miles and miles away.  "See, I grew up here.  Lived here with Pop all my life.  I don't know nothin' else.  New Orleans is in my blood, and I'm not sure if I like it, ya know?  You have your childhood memories of home and this Kenny guy.  My childhood memories are of The Spotted Cat when folks actually came to the damn place.  Not very good memories for a child to have, huh?"

"But they could be a lot worse,"  Brendon pointed out.  "Your memories could be of war stories and horrible times.  At least they're of your pop and the boomin' days of The Spotted Cat, right?"

Ryan fell silent, his solemn gaze cast down at the water beneath their toes.  "I suppose,"  he murmured.  Brendon could barely hear him.  "I just wish I could have those days back sometimes."  He heaved a sigh, fishing something out of his back pocket.  A cigarette, by the looks of it, and a small lighter.  "You want one?"

Brendon frowned.  He'd never smoked a cigarette in his life, let alone even seen one this close.  His mama would've killed him if she saw him smoking.  "Nah, I'm okay."

An amused smile curled its way onto Ryan's lips.  "You've never smoked a snipe before, have you?"  he questioned.  The tone in his voice made Brendon want to shrink down into his shirt.  He was being judged by the city boy.  "Never?  Not once in your whole life?"

"Mama was strict,"  Brendon muttered, more to himself than anything.

"Well, allow me to let you in on a little secret, wheat."  Ryan inched closer, so close that their shoulders bumped when either of them moved.  "Your mama ain't here.  You can smoke all you want.  She can't tell ya what to do now."

"But isn't it bad for you?"

Ryan scoffed, the cigarette loosely hanging from his mouth as he went to light it.  "Haven't ya seen all those advertisements?  Snipes help ya lose weight.  Doctors are praisin' them.  Folks do it all the time.  Where in the hell did ya hear that it was bad?  Your mama?"

"Mama said she used to smoke, and it didn't do her any good,"  Brendon explained.  He still felt like an idiot, an inexperienced wheat, sitting next to this city boy.  He definitely had a lot to learn.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, the dark smoke billowing into the nighttime air around them, Ryan fished out another one and offered it to Brendon.  "Here.  Try it.  Can't hurt ya if ya don't even give it a shot."

Brendon hesitated, cautiously eyeing the cigarette in Ryan's hand, as if it was going to come to life and attack him on the spot.  He trusted his mama, and when his mama told him something, he listened to her.  He didn't want to go against her no smoking rules, but he didn't want to turn down Ryan's offer, either, especially since he was still trying to make a good impression.  Maybe he was going to have to make an exception this one time.

He took the cigarette.

"Thatta boy,"  Ryan said with a smile.  The flame from his lighter was already flickering, waiting to light the cigarette between Brendon's lips.  He was terrified to do this, but he wanted to make a good impression.  He had to make a good impression if he wanted to last a week in New Orleans.  He already managed to score an apartment from the hoity-toity French man.  Now he just had to smoke a cigarette and, hopefully, make a friend out of it.