[h3][center]The Swan's Song[/center][/h3]

His attention was captured momentarily by the lady who waved, and he in turn smiled and nodded his head in her direction before casting his glance in another direction. The hot spotlight blazed on Max's skin, and his forehead glistened with effortful perspiration. At whatever moment during the song, he had taken his jacket off, slinging it over his shoulder as he let the instrumentals take over in the lead up to the end. At the back of the venue he noticed, only barely, the presence of large men filtering in, looking to be of an unsavory stock. His smile faltered, his eyes unable to detract from them as a pair moved through the crowd towards the stage. Max continued to sing admirably, but his face slowly moved from simply watching to sidelong confusion. 

As the song reached its final crescendo, the burly pair moved up the steps of the stage without warning, causing applause to wane and the crowd to hiss and jeer. One of the bald men rolled his eyes and nodded his head backwards, gesturing for Max to get off the stage, they were only about a yard apart. Max looked the thug hard in the eyes, not moving, glaring like the headlights of an oncoming car. He gripped the microphone harder. 

"Come on, Elvis. Off the stage now." The tone of the man dripped condescension. With a subtle motion, Max switched the microphone off, the speakers making a pop and then falling silent. The tromboneist sensed the tension from behind Max and began to speak, trying to get Max to disengage. 

"Max, come on, let's g-" Max raised a hand to silence his band mate, but kept his eyes locked on the thug.

"What the fuck did you say to me?" The man at that point seemed to have little patience left and gave Max a firm shove, causing him to stumble back a little and drop his jacket.

"Just get off, shit for brains." Max glowered at the man and stepped forwards, dodging the grasp of the Tromboneist. He shoved his hand into the Thug's gut, fingers balled up around the microphone.

"Don't forget this." He hissed, letting go of it and causing the man to fumble for it. Max had half the state of mind to hit the unwelcomed thug, but instead he went down the steps, followed by the band. The whole interaction only lasted a few seconds. However those few seconds were enough to get him riled. He descended the steps, followed by the band, leaving his jacket behind on the stage unknowingly. 

Max marched through the crowd, straight to the bar, almost man handling himself into a stool and gesturing the bartender over. "double scotch, rocks." He stuffed his fist into his pocket and roughly placed a collection of crumpled notes on the counter, "However much this gets." In the background the 'perfect posse's' head man droned on, Max guessed that he was the one that demanded him off the stage before he could finish his set. 

As Sasha spoke Max considered throwing his glass at him, but momma didn't raise no fool. He stayed put as he exchanged his glass for fresh ice and a top up. Max tried to ignore the voice of the crazy Russian but instead it only put him off more. Standing up suddenly, well before Sasha had jumped on Ren, he took his leave and stepped out into the cold evening air.

The pilot reached into his pocket, only to find that it wasn't there, he realized rather abruptly that his jacket, and in consequences his cigars were lying on the stage. Not in the mood to return to the establishment until everyone had left, Max went for his car parked across the road and unlocked it with the key from his trouser pockets. Sitting on the Driver's seat, facing out to the Swan's Song with his feet planted on the road, Max put a half used cigar into his mouth and lit it up, grumbling under his voice.