Mad as Jazzmen |1930s Ryden AU| ✔️

-8-

He realized he was staring then; he hoped Ryan hadn't noticed.

"Market's gettin' busy,"  Ryan remarked, absentmindedly watching the people bustle around the fruit carts and other miscellaneous stands.  "Think it's time to start playin'?"

Brendon shrugged.  "A good a time as any,"  he replied.  There were dozens of people already shopping around the market, and hopefully a handful of them would take an interest in Ryan's music.

Now that Brendon thought about it, too, he'd never heard Ryan play other than a few simple scales.  Spencer had said he was an outstanding performer, so if Brendon hadn't been eager before, he was beyond twitching with excitement now.

Phase two was in full swing.

Ryan began playing, and the music instantly filled the stagnant air of the marketplace around them.  It wasn't a complicated melody, but it was beautiful and harmonious, pleasing to the ears.  Brendon felt goosebumps prickle his skin as he merely sat and watched Ryan play.  He looked so content, so at home while he played.  He was beyond an outstanding performer.  He was incredible.

The melodies caught the attention of a few passersby, but none of them ventured over to see the sign or donate any money.  It was still early in the day, though.  Brendon wasn't giving up hopes yet.  As long as he could listen to Ryan while he waited, he didn't mind if phase two went late into the night, or even early into the next day.  People would come eventually.  They always did.

One of the stand owners took an interest in the melodies and flashed Ryan a thumbs-up, even tossed a dime in the case.  "Soundin' good, kid,"  he remarked with a gruff voice.  "Keep up the good work."

"Thank ya, sir!"  Ryan said, his grin stretching from ear to ear.  One taker down, dozens more to go.  Brendon had faith.  Ryan's playing could attract the attention of anyone in New Orleans.

A young married couple stopped by next, their arms linked and their joyful smiles nearly identical.  The woman even fished two dimes out of her purse and tossed it in the case while her husband eyed the sign Brendon had made.  Perhaps they were going to be the first new customers to The Spotted Cat.

"Like what ya hear?"  Brendon asked, trying his best to sell their plan.  "He'll be performin' a real concert down at The Spotted Cat next Friday if ya wanna stop by.  I would if I were you.  He's fantastic."

"Oh, isn't that the old jazz club?"  the woman asked.  Her voice was high-pitched and sweet-sounding, perfectly matching her demeanor.

Brendon nodded.  "You bet it is.  Got a new look and everythin'.  Ya don't wanna miss it, folks.  Trust me."

The man and the woman exchanged glances.  At least they knew what The Spotted Cat was.  That was a great start in Brendon's opinion.  Now he just had to convince them to stop by next Friday and see Ryan's real performance.

"I think we might do just that,"  the man said with a smile.

Score!  And it had only taken them ten minutes.  Brendon was just about to wonder how his day could've possibly gotten any better when he saw Dallon stroll into the marketplace, and he didn't look happy.

"Oh, great,"  Brendon muttered, more to himself than anything.  He tried to sink into the curb, hide behind the saxophone case, but alas, Dallon spotted him anyway.  He couldn't wait for Dallon to chew him out for hanging out with the riffraff.

"Well, well, if it isn't Mr. Urie and Mr. Ross,"  Dallon sneered as he approached the two, empty basket in hand.  Why couldn't he just buy his necessities and leave?  That was what the market was for.