[O] Quiet Night

Today was what the furniture of The Last Stand called a quiet night. No band had been booked for the night. There weren't that many young adults looking to get smashed. No brawl had started up. Doc's back room was quiet.

In fact everything was quiet. There was a hush amongst the crowd as they gazed upon two men sat together in the designated 'stage' area of the pub. No band had been booked, but one of the two men sat with a guitar in his lap.

He tucked a strand of long ginger hair that had escaped the loose braid that trailed over his shoulder, hanging down to his navel, behind his pierced ear and laughed at his partner, a man that looked no older than he, with silver hair even longer than his own tied back in a high ponytail.

"So, before my mama bought me my first guitar, he made me promise to play for him all the time. Little four year old me was too excited to tell him to shove it-" that earned a round of laughs "-but I was a good son. I played for him all the time until I gave up playing the guitar. You got a good ten years of serenading out of me, right, mutty? But in the end other things caught my interest and I let my guitar go dusty. Since I picked up my guitar again, I haven't really taken the time to play for him again like I used to."

Darragh patted the body of his guitar, clearly well loved with the small dents in the wood and the frayed braided strap that rested over a broad shoulder. "So, mutty." His eyes turned up to the tall silver haired man, and his lips quirked upwards. There was a flow of understanding between the two of them. This man was Darragh's mother, but a lot of the crowd didn't know that, and wouldn't pick up on how meaningful this was to him. A lot of this group knew Aeker as Darragh's cousin's husband. A close enough bond that it wouldn't be an odd thing to share a moment while thinking about Dare's mother. "This one's for you."

His fingers played at the strings and his voice rumbled from his chest in a low hum. His eyes slid closed and his head bowed just a little, as if he was leaning into the music he was playing, becoming encompassed by it.

His voice didn't carry as loudly as it usually did with a microphone in front of him. This was a more intimate scene than the usual band music was. He wasn't flanked by his family. He wasn't singing over a heavy drum beat from his second cousin, or rivalling his cousins strong guitar playing with his powerful voice.

Here, he was singing from the heart, singing something special to someone special.

Mama told me when I was young
"Come sit beside me, my only son
And listen closely to what I say
And if you do this it'll help you some sunny day"

"Oh, take your time, don't live too fast
Troubles will come and they will pass
You'll find a woman and you'll find love
And don't forget, son, there is someone up above"

"And be a simple kind of man
Oh, be something you love and understand
Baby be a simple kind of man
Oh, won't you do this for me, son, if you can"

Shoot sat dreamily in the back with a tumbler of some cheap brand of amber liquor in it. It stung her slightly chapped lips with every sip she took, but she loved it, the little tinge of pain. The young, bleach blonde had been visiting the musky bar almost every night for the past few days, lurking in the background, admiring Darragh and his music, watching him drink and flirt and just be. He interested her, not because of his good looks, talent, but because of how he respond to her mother.

She had never seen someone get her mother so heated before, it was really impressive. Her mother was a commanding, cold presence to her, and to see her steer away from that attitude because of one smug musician.

Shoot wanted to fuck him for that.

But she knew not to just bring him over again, her mother might actually kill him.

For the moment she was admiring his touching moment with the other man on the stage, how soothing their chemistry was. It relaxed her more than the drink in her hand and she loved it. She decided tonight would be the night she'd approach him again. The liquor was telling her to.

The song continued, filled with such strong emotion.

"And be a simple kind of man
Be something you'll love and understand
Baby be a simple, kind of man
Oh, won't you do this for me son, if you can"

So baby, be a simple, be a simple man
Oh won't you do this for me son if you can

The final note hung in the air for a few long moments before the applause began. Darragh grinned, the numerous piercings on his lips almost twinkling in the light.

The silver haired man pat him gently on the shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, and Dare grinned crookedly. He ducked his head and slid the frayed strap from his shoulders. "You mean the world to me, mutty, and I hope I'll be able to lead a life you're proud of me for."

He passed his guitar off to Aeker, who stroked it almost reverently as Dare stood.

He raised his voice slightly, letting it carry through the pub. "Thanks for listening to my sentimental babble." He repeated the phrase again in Italian for the natives then ducked from the crowd, ambling towards the front door.

When he was outside he rummaged through the pocket of his jeans, coming up a moment later with a box of cigarettes and a lighter. He pressed the butt of a fag between his lips and lit up, inhaling the first lungful deeply. One hand came up to catch the cigarette between two fingers as he exhaled, while the other buried back into his pocket with the box and lighter.

His broad shoulders relaxed as he leaned comfortably against the brick wall.

Shoot stood and immediately felt the scotch-soaked blood rush through her veins. Standing is always and excellent way of telling exactly how drunk one is after a night of booze and music. She wobbled a moment in her high heeled boots, but she was rather used to the sensation being a lightweight and all. With a glint of her composure returning to her she made her way out the door she spied Darragh exiting out of.

The door swung open a little faster than she intended, making a nice swift crack against the wall behind it, but that didn't seem to phase her. She just made her way out into the night and looked around for the red-headed man. Little did she know the man was behind her against the wall, out of her line of vision. She stood there puzzled, the rim of the tumbler grasped loosely by the tips of her fingers, threatening to slip and smash against the ground at any second.

"Huh..." She spoke, a little louder than the average sober person.

Darragh hummed softly to himself as he smoked, leaning against the wall and staring up at the bright stars lighting up the sky.

He felt a great sense of peace at the moment.

His constant present at The Last Stand left him over-exposed to the loud rowdiness of drunkards, so when Shoot threw open the pub's door, he barely even fluttered his eyelashes in shock. His eyes raised, staring at the woman's back as she stepped outside.

He gave a quiet hum at her murmur, inhaling another lungful of his cigarette. He exhaled, sending thick smoke curling up into the warm air.

"Okay there, babe?" he asked, just loud enough to be considered above a whisper.

The young women froze a moment to process Darragh's voice and then turned her head slightly so her right eye peered over her shoulder, almost hidden by her two-toned hair.

"I am now," she said in a tone that implied she was tipsy. She turned her body to face the man behind her and crossed her arms over her chest. "Long time no see hm?" she questioned, a soft smile pursed on her muted coral lipstick that was worn from sips of alcoholic drinks. She rocked on her heels slightly, keeping the two feet between them intact, but only to gauge how he'd respond to her.

He recognised her as soon as she turned around, and a smirk curled his pierced lips.

"Mmm," he hummed in agreement. It had been a a fair amount of time. He'd thought they probably wouldn't see each other after she had copletely blanked his text. If she had even given him her own number to begin with.

But here she was, seeking him out.

He held out a tattooed arm, while he flicked the ash of his cigarette with the thumb of his other hand. "Miss me terribly, baby?" He grinned crookedly, tongue playing over his teeth.

"A little bit here and there," she teased, pursing her lips into a neat little smile, "I don't think I've ever seen someone so hard-looking sing a heart-filled tune quite like that." She gestured with her thumb towards the bar, referring to his performance. Her tone wasn't entirely snarky, it was definitely more genuine than anything else, but the scotch was catching up with her a bit and it altered her tone slightly.

"Have any other performances or are you ready to take me out for a drink?" she asked with a smirk.

"Well, I guess I'm more than me rugged good looks. Van Zant wasn't exactly the clean cut type himself." He'd be incredibly impressed if Shoot knew who that was. The band was over seventy years old now, and rock as old as that wasn't something a great many people were into.

"Oh, I'm more than ready, baby. Question is, are you?"

His crooked grin widened as he stubbed his cigarette out on the wall and flicked the butt into a flower pot.

"Hm well Southern American rockers have yet to impress me with that like you do," she spoke with a cheeky little smile. She then took a few steps backward away from the bar.

"Take me to your favorite place other than this bar. I want a change," she commanded, giving him a wink before swinging around and taking a few more slow steps toward the street so he could catch up with her. "I want to taste the finest dive bar liquor!"

"Look at you knowing your shit." He was incredibly impressed. He pushed off the wall and approached her at a lumbering walk.

"A girl that knows her old rock bands is sexy as fuck," he crooned, dropping an arm around her shoulders.

"I don't know about a dive, but there's this good club I know." He may have been very much into the homely Irish bar scene, but he was in his mid twenties, and he enjoyed clubbing like the best of them. Darragh wasn't all about old rock music and grumpy Irish bartenders. Sometimes he liked the blaring tunes of recent pop and a hundred bodies pressed against each other.