Drinkin' from the bottle and singin'

[emily]

Drinkin' from the bottle and singin' from the heart
Cryin' blues in motel rooms Lord the hard times weren't that hard
And some fell in and some fell out and some just fell apart
-Shel Silverstein

Late Saturday night, after all the noise has stopped, a Glasswalker crossed the threshold of the Midnight Ride. She paused and looked up at the sign over the door, and the two lit torches out front.

"There's a story in that somewhere."

The jukebox was wailing some old Nashville tune, and a couple of regulars were clackin the point count over the pool table. She'd liked Nashville, the denim and the hospitality and damned if they didn't make a good biscuit. Why, out by the Fairgrounds, there was this tacky little cafe, and the Kin behind the counter.....it was a three day trek to get to Bitter Tears, and she could have skipped the whole thing and taken another detour around Atlanta, but the Country Music Hall of Fame was worth it.

She paused after entering, looking for familiar faces. Figured, not many here after big nights, out causing havoc or home sleeping it all off. She sidled up to the bar, hands jammed into her pockets. From behind the expanse of gleaming wood, all inset with curlicues and etched with silvery metal, a man paused with a glass.

She opened up her wallet and pulled out two crisp twenties. She laid them on the bar.

"I'm aiming to imbibe. When I've drunk all that up, you let me know, and we'll pause to assess the situation."

[Mike]

"Evening, Ma'am." Paul said from behind the bar. He was tired, and that was evident in his face, but there was still time before closing. He glanced at the money and then back at the Glass Walker. The glass was set down on the bar in front of her. "What's your poison?"

[emily]

After she'd had a couple of rounds and had some fire in her gut to fortify her, Rory nodded to the barman, where he stood down at the far end, keeping a wary eye on a couple of out of towners.

"Suits from up the capital. Must've gotten lost when they came in here. Gotta make sure they don't see or hear anything they shouldn't."
"This is a fine place you've made for yourself here. I bet there's a hell of a story involved in that."

There. Opening gambit. Offering to trade stories between two songsingers. Neutral.

"Can I ask you a question, Mr. Revere? "
At his cautious nod, Rory pressed on.
"How long have you been in this business? I don't mean the bar business, although I bet that's interesting too, I didn't mean to imply that "
Stop it, Ror. You're babbling. Ask the man the question. He was looking at her all bemused.
"I mean, how long have you been, you know....." She scrunched up her face and made claws of her hands.

[Mike]

"Good Gaia, I could hardly tell you how long it's been...thirty maybe thirty five years. I had my firsting around the tender age of fifteen..." Paul began. It was time to pour himself a beer. He offered his glass up in toast. *Clink* He took a drink. "...I was a little shit then. Thought I owned the world...thought I could move mountains. Learned my lesson quick. Didn't want to own the world so much as change, leave my mark on history..." Paul took another drink, draining most of the glass. "Took me a few years to make it Cliath, all proper and such...then it was off on my own to see what the world had to offer. S'when I met the Sons..."

Paul jerked his thumb back to the framed picture behind him. Five guys, one girl, and eyes of dreams. Engraved on a plate at the bottom were the words "Give me liberty or give me death."