Bishop and Adelaide
The fiddle isn’t exactly top notch and it’s player hasn’t played in years, but nobody seems to care about those minor details all that much. Instead they call out song requests and huff when Bishop tosses them a smile and a ‘sorry darlin’, I don’t know that one.’ because his repertoire is small and distinct. The songs he knows by memory are almost all entirely bluegrass tunes, things he used to play while sitting on the back porch of his parents place with the neighbors gathered ‘round.
This isn’t his parents place, but he’s got people gathered ‘round him none the less.
One of the old ladies whose name escapes him calls out another request and Bishop just shakes his head ‘no’, fingers deftly launching into a tune he could have played in his sleep. Moments like these, sitting around a fire, that’s when his roots start to show - the parts of Harlan he didn’t hate with every fiber of his being. Community, family, good company. Those are the things he loved about home.
His gaze scans the grouping of people who’ve settling themselves around the fire. Most aren’t really paying him much mind, but his blue eyes catch on Rodeo’s kid sister sitting off to his left some ways and if he’s not mistaken the girl almost looks like she might be enjoying herself. Bishop acknowledges her with a smile and a nod, his own subtle way of saying ‘this ain’t so bad, is it?’.