Mistakes We Made (Glee FF/Sebastian Smythe) | ✓

24~ Inside Sebastian's Coma (Pt. 4)

A man slouched at the bar, called over Mike to refill his drink. The man was bored, depressed, trying to find some meaning in his life. Mike noticed right away, and decided to make conversation.

"It's hard to believe that someone was murdered right over there." he said as he poured the man a shot.

"Means nothing to me." the man groaned, prodding his notebook with his pen, "I'm a bestselling pulp crap crime novelist. I trade in death daily. Theoretically." he downed his liquor shot in a swift gulp. "What liquor best exemplifies death by substance abuse?" Mike shrugged.

"Irish whisky of course," he said in an irish accent. "But, what spirit best represents murder most foul?"

"You know everyone that works here is a suspect?" Mike asked him. "I'm working with the murderer."

"Now, do you have a picture of this poor bastard that was murdered?" the man asked, still using his irish accent.

"Sam sent me a photo this morning, before the cops arrived." Mike replied as he pulled out his phone. "I'll only show you if you drop the accent." he told him. The man agreed and accepted the phone with the picture of the dead man.

"The man is obviously a hired killer." he said.

"You got that from a cell phone photo?" Mike asked, confused beyond which of claims.

"Yeah, his hair, his suit, his ring, the fact that I talked to him last night...here." he replied.

"Here? He was here in this bar? I didn't see him." Mike said. The man snickered and nodded.

"Gotcha. Yeah, right, none of us did." he said, picking up his glass for another shot. "Very good. Murder most foul."

-

Mercedes Jones, or just Mercedes, was an RnB, soul-singing queen, who could hit notes higher than Christina Aguilera. And when she wanted something, she would make sure she would get it.

"Mmm-mmm, do you feel that?" she asked the couple and their lawyer, who didn't look very pleased as she twirled around on their dance floor. "This is the magic right here baby. Your stage has...mystic properties."

"No, that is a ridiculous urban legend." Reese told him.

"Then explain to me how som many legends have gotten to where they are now because of performing on this stage right here?" Mercedes asked her.

"Maybe because we have good taste." Sebastian replied.

"Please baby, this place had the power before you got here, and it'll have it after you're gone. All I want, is my piece of the legacy." she replied.

"I'm not aware of what she's talking about." Reese said to her boyfriend and their lawyer.

"And if you had good taste, you would book me first and then each of my protégés after, you got it honey?" Mercedes told Reese.

"Well get this 'honey'. I recognize oyur personal talent, but I don't book you or any of your..." Sebastian had forgotten the word.

"Protégéss." Ms. Pilsbury said.

"Thank you;...because of your brother." he finished.

"Oh, so you just brazenly racist?" Mercedes guessed.

"Sorry? What did you just say to me?" Sebastian asked her, feeling threatened.

"This is exactly where I did not want this conversation to go." Ms. Pilsbury interuppted them.

"My boyfriend is concerned about your gang ties." Reese told Mercedes, who looked like she had just been slapped in the face by now. "Which is not you, but is your brother."