Who: Lucas (narrative) What: Open Mic Night Where: Random bar When: Thursday night Warnings: None
Music was something special to him, something he indulged in to chase the day away, whether it meant getting up on stage and partaking in bad karaoke with drunken onlookers or some smokey, dark little bar with a tiny wooden stage and sign-ups for open mic, it was his escape. The evening found him at a dark little bar he found while wandering the streets of Seattle (as he was wont to do), and the temptation of an open mic night had him dragging his guitar along with that evening. Lucas didn't write his own music, didn't write his own lyrics, but he enjoyed letting the songs he adored oh so much to run through him and his fingers, singing for himself, singing for everyone else that watched.
The smoke hung heavy in the air, a fog that echoed the fog that lingered outside. His guitar was old, well-worn and well-loved, and it was all the accompaniment he needed.
Climbing up on Solsbury Hill I could see the city light Wind was blowing, time stood still Eagle flew out of the night He was something to observe Came in close, I heard a voice Standing stretching every nerve Had to listen had no choice I did not believe the information I just had to trust imagination My heart going boom boom boom "Son," he said "Grab your things, I've come to take you home."
He let his mind wander as he sang, the song and notes muscle memory at that point, and inevitably his thoughts wandered to the party, what happened after, and he wondered, idly, if things would ever be the same. Friendships were cherished things, something to hold onto even as life took you spinning and reeling. His friendship with Elijah had been a fond childhood memory, something he very much cherished but hadn't ever expected to revisit. With two worlds to get lost in, what chance was there in encountering someone from a lifetime ago, after all. That didn't make it any easier to face what had happened, what he had potentially lost.
When the song wound down, a smattering of applause echoing through the room, Lucas tucked his guitar away in its case and exited the stage, no longer in the mood to sing, to play. He just wanted to think. So he took a seat at the bar, ordered whatever was on tap, and with his fingers curled around the frosty mug, his earlier train of thought was resumed. There was no denying the fact that he had done damage; the anger in Eli's eyes, the thinly veiled emotions that still had the ability to hurt and harm. He wasn't stupid; he knew knew he deserved every bit of that animosity, and now it was just a question of what he should be doing now. Did he approach Eli? Did he dare approach Preston? Perhaps the two had already made up, after he had taken his quiet leave that morning.
Sighing, Lucas tipped back the remainder of his beer in one go, putting the mug down heavily as he pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "This is why you don't go around picking up costumed men at parties, Lucas," he muttered to himself. Pulling his hands away, he gestured for another beer before picking at the nut mix that sat in a dish on the counter.
He supposed it would be best to simply put it behind him, chalk it up to hindsight being 20/20, and focus on what he had, what was concrete, what he should be doing. Lucas wasn't one to linger on things, preferring the past to stay exactly that: the past. No one could change it, after all, so why dwell on one's errors and missteps? That hardly made it easier to take, so there was no consolation to be found. Instead, Lucas finished his second beer and slipped enough money to the tender to cover his bill before hefting his guitar case from the stool beside him. Getting lost in the fog seemed preferable to bemoaning his own issues in a dark bar.
The strap was slung over his shoulder, and as quietly as he had come to the bar, he left, the fog soon enveloping him.