Trial Run [closed]

[quentinthurston]

John glanced up at the sign, taking in the word pub and feeling instantly positive with the direction this evening was taking. It’d been a long day driving across the landscape of Maine. Rather than dedicate his evening to unpacking the boxes he’d only packed a few days previously, he’d decided to take in what nightlife a small could offer in comparison to that of Boston. Despite the nearly 30 years his family had been living in the States, his father would always choose to drink in a place that labelled itself a pub. So that seemed as good a place to start as anywhere else.

Inside it was busier than he expected, his mind automatically settling into the Mineral Point small town mentality. That town had been more family orientated though, not the most thrilling place for a teenager to waste his years –unable to get a drink as all the store owners knew he was under 21. His father would bring several crates of beer whenever he visited, muttering darkly that he’d been drinking weekly by 16 back home. Then again, who knew what sort of stuff his Dad had been into as an art student in the early 1970s.

Making his way toward the bar, he perched on the stool nearest to where the barman seemed to be lingering. Ordering a quick bud, he tipped the bottle to his lips and took a deep swig. Humming appreciatively as the suds washed over his taste buds. The next step from here, working out what kind of place he’d jumped feet first into. Shifting on his seat, his elbow knocked the person stood nearby, “Sorry love! Clumsy limbs,” he explained with a grin, British accent sliding over the words.

Comments

[hazardsoflove]

"It's fine, man," says Nate, flashing a little smile, dipping his head. He's actually supposed to be playing tonight, if he can get his head around it. Lara's told him that it's going to be fine and...it's going to be fine. It really is. Totally. He swallows and glances back over his shoulder, sets his guitar down against the bar before he orders a beer.

[quentinthurston]

As the guy dips his gaze, John’s first thought is that he seems shy. Lifting his beer bottle to his lips he went to turn his attention elsewhere – the guy probably didn’t want a stranger bothering him, might mistake it as a line. That was when his eyes spied the guitar that was being set down and he couldn’t help asking, “That yours? The guitar I mean?”

[hazardsoflove]

Finn sets a beer in front of him and Nate nods, lifting the glass to take a sip.

"Yeah, yeah, it's mine. Finn's giving me a gig on a trial basis."

[quentinthurston]

John nodded as though he had more knowledge of who Finn was, other than the owner and namesake of the bar. He was however interested that this guy could play – he himself had tried as a teenager, desperate to join a rock band but he just did not have the coordination or dedication to practice that was required. “Wonderful, are you playing soon or just soothing the nerves?” He lightly tapped his beer bottle.

[hazardsoflove]

"Going to give a song or two a go in a few l," says Nate, taking a sip of his beer. "See if I can remember how it goes."

[vademecum]

"Holy shit, you're a big one, aren't you?" says Finch, leaning both elbows on the bar as she tries to catch Finn's eye down the bar. "S'okay, man. You take up as much space as those shoulders do, you're going to catch someone every once in a while, right?"

[quentinthurston]

He couldn’t help the deep chuckle in reply to those words, “I can’t deny that. Best way to move through a crowd is with my arms flat against my sides and repeating ‘sorry’ on an apologetic loop.” Taking another swig of his bottled beer he added, “It has its advantages though. Being big an’ all. But get used to what we’re given, hmm.” John didn’t intend to come across as flirtatious – Lin often joked he could charm his way out a prison sentence if he tried hard enough. Thank goodness he’d never get himself into a situation where he’d need to.

[vademecum]

Finch isn't very tall, but she makes up for it in sheer volume. She yells at Finn that she'll take a pint and then settles down on the stool beside the big guy without being invited while she waits for her drink. She leans her chin into her hand and raises both eyebrows.

"Has advantages does it?"

[quentinthurston]

“Oh most definitely,” He almost purrs the words, the ever present grin deepening just a little. Index finger tapping lightly on his beer bottle he turns slightly toward her. Body language more directly involved in the conversation, “Means I give the best shoulder rides – my Goddaughter would agree if she could talk yet. I think the giggling speaks for itself however.”

[vademecum]

When he turns, Finch does too, her knees almost brushing his in the shadow of the bar. She gives him an appraising look, head tilted slightly.

"Yeah, alright," she says, London thick in her accent. "I could see that."

[quentinthurston]

“I’d offer a demonstration but I don’t imagine it’d go down too well indoors – at least not anywhere that isn’t a warehouse rave.” It had taken him a few minutes to pick up on her accent as something inherently familiar yet unusual given the setting. Living in and travelling across America he had grown accustomed to an amalgamation of accents, with the addition of British parents he tended to interact and respond with both accents interchangeably. His own accent somehow thickening in response, if that was possible for someone with such a deep set accent. Therefore it usually took someone making a comment or pointing it out for him to see something which should really be blatant.

“Have you moved recently or are you just stuck with the vocals?” He asked.

[vademecum]

"I'll take a raincheck," says Finch, meaning it utterly. It takes her a moment to realise that he's picked up on her accent. She pushes her hair back from her face. "Been travelling for a while but I'm pretty brand new to right here."