Written for Joanne for the 2009 xmas_rocks exchange
| This story is a work of fiction and therefore completely untrue. No harm or libel is meant or implied about any of the individuals named within this work and it was written without their involvement or permission. No profit is being made. |
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It wasn't the clack of a typewriter that filled the air, but the sound of glasses hitting shelves, wiped clean of fingerprints before being stored away for later. At four in the afternoon it wasn't time for cocktail hour, not that the bar would ever serve cocktails to their clientele; their type of people were the simple kind, grabbing a beer or liquor straight up, ideally straight from the bottle. The fact that they were a bar, an institution for alcoholics, musicians and, even more popularly, alcoholic-musicians, requested some degree of formality, hence the clean glasses. Except two people had forgone the necessity, and were drinking their choice beverages between the strumming of an acoustic guitar and soul-fisted singing, bottles within easy reach. Sunlight seeped into the building from the dusty windows, casting shadows around the legs of tables and chairs. It made the building appear less of a relic, but the stage still looked in dire need of repairs; the wood was layered unevenly, some planks holding a figment of the yellow hue it once was painted, but somehow it was still in one piece, solidly holding up the musicians three feet above the dining area. Their legs dangled over the edge, her leg hooked over his as the atmosphere and alcohol worked to make her languid. Occasionally bursts of song trickled from her lips, trying to match the story that the guitarist was creating; sometimes the tale would carry out for minutes, other times only seconds, before she settled further back on her elbows, bottle of Southern Comfort curling and dipping back towards her mouth. Soon another woman's voice added to the mix, cutting singing and guitar short. "I was told there was supposed to be a show tonight, but if you two are the entertainment, there's going to be a lot of people demanding their money back." "Ahhh, but you know that you're doin' the show," she spoke to the rafters, slowly blinking to adjust to the dim. "We're just here to test the a-cou-stics." A short laugh mocked, but the words that followed were sincerely amused. "You're ever so thoughtful Janis." "Always thinking of you Grace, no one else but you." A slow progression of chords was plonked out, staggering in and around Grace's feet making their way to the stage. "Now I know that's not true, other things do cross your mind." "They cross in and they cross out. Not many of those things take up residence, or at least not longer than a few hours." Janis shuffled sideways, making room for Grace. A grin spread across her face as she watched Grace sit down, another pair of legs dangling. "Miscreant things, or maybe I'm the one being miscreant." "What is this yearning of yours to always be trouble?" "Aren't I always trouble?" "You make it seem like you are, or at the very least that it finds you." "Life would be painfully boring were it not for trouble. Never venturing outside one's circle, sticking to solid grounds, being content with the known, not exploring for the beyond..." Janis gestured out with her hand, thumping it against the guitar. The sound reverberated; deciding that the noise complemented the new song he was making she continued to thump along softly. Foot swinging like a metronome, Grace pursed her lips together in concentration, at last shaking her head. "I don't deny that people need to search, for themselves and the world, but I wouldn't say trouble equals excitement. Trouble is all about doing wrong, and while people can't learn what is right without knowing and experiencing wrongs, excitement can also be right." "So are you saying I'm right?" Janis asked, angling her head up to get a better look at Grace. She glanced backwards, smirking down at her friend. "Sometimes." It took several long seconds for Janis to consider the response. "So I'm right and wrong... well, it's better than being boring," "And you're certainly not boring," Grace assured her. "Thank God for that." She had stopped thumping, her hand resting on his leg. "Can you see me living in a square?" "I thought you mentioned something about a circle," Grace remarked, tone slightly bemused. "Circle, square, triangle - I don't want a shape to define me." "Go on and defy convention." "I will." She clapped her hand down for emphasis, feeling a rather bony thigh for her efforts. It never entered her consciousness that the music had stopped, or that the thigh was shifting away, her palm and fingers slowly and quietly sliding to the stage floor. She did recognise the bottle that pressed against her baby finger though; with an easy flip of her hand she grasped it, stretching it across to nudge Grace's hand. "Just not right now, I'm quite comfortable on this piece of wood here." Grace made a face as she was presented with the empty beer bottle. Instead she took the bottle that Janis held in her other hand, taking a swig of it. The liquid was already in her throat when she registered the warm rancid taste. Screwing her eyes shut she made an effort to swallow it down. "In your state of mind it must feel like a feather-down bed," Grace commented, lifting the half-drunk Southern Comfort to eye level. "Like sleeping on a cloud." No longer hindered, Janis was able to swing her legs back up onto the stage. With her hands unoccupied she stretched her arms and legs, rolling the kinks out of her shoulders. Another twist later and she had situated herself so the back of her head rested against Grace's thigh. "I'm sleeping on a cloud, with an angel for a pillow." "Are you sure this is all you've been drinking?" Grace asked, inspecting the bottle and daring to take a tiny sniff of the contents. Janis lifted her hands, fingers wiggling for the bottle. "Yes, that's all there's been. Mind you, there will be less once you give it back-" "I think you've had enough." "You think, but I haven't." Janis tried to make another swipe for the bottle, but it rose higher, arching backwards until it was pushed somewhere behind the brunette. "You have." Grace caught her wrist, lowering it down, pressing her own arm so that it draped over Janis' chest. She opened her mouth to protest, but then decided against it, preferring to lay her own hand over Grace's arm. The bar was starting to look a whole lot brighter, and warmer as a result of the light, both convincing her to close her eyes. Murmuring faintly, perhaps a final denouncement, however half-hearted, she pressed her cheek to Grace's leg, parted lips letting a sticky sweet breath wash over Grace's fingers.
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