Down Through the Ages by StarSpray

Roaring Twenties

Prompt for this chapter: Speakeasy

"We really must stop meeting like this," Daeron said when he stepped into the dimly lit, dark-paneled bar to find its only other occupant to be Maglor, sitting at the piano in the corner. "I thought you were in Canada again."

"I thought you had gone off to South America," Maglor replied. He played a few notes, and hummed. "This thing is out of tune."

"I doubt the patrons will notice," Daeron said. It felt as though they'd had this exact conversation before, under rather similar circumstances. He found a stool nearby and dragged it over beside the piano bench. As he pulled out his flute, he said, "The rain forest is all well and good, but not for an extended stay."

"But Chicago is?" Maglor arched an eyebrow. He'd grown his hair out again, Daeron noticed absently. It looked better longer, framing his face just so. His eyes were still very bright.

"I never said that," Daeron said. "I just wanted a proper drink." A thing that, ideally, would be impossible in the United States these days, but there was no denying the Americans their alcohol. Hence the hidden bars. The extremely good pay for musicians was as much to keep their silence as it was for their talents. Here, Daeron had been told, they would also get free drinks, and he had been assured that there was no bathtub gin to be served. Not when Mr. Capone himself might stop in to check on the business.

He pulled his flute from its case and played a few notes as a bartender appeared to prepare for the evening. Maglor listened and then began to play himself, fingers moving gracefully over the slightly-yellowed keys.

(Al Capone did come that night, and it turned out he tipped very handsomely.)