apologies for the looong delay, life got away from me there – but here is chapter ten! I also wanted to take this opportunity to thank everyone who nominated this fic for a CS fanfic award! I totally screamed when I realised! I haven’t been about much recently so I won’t give you a spiel about voting for me, but if any of you enjoy this fic and wanted to that’d be cool too. But anyway, here’s pt 10, enjoy!
the importance of being idle get-out-of-my-apartment-(no-really-get-out)-you’re-hot-but-I-got-shit-to-do rock ‘n roll AU. Captain Swan.
She wasn’t exactly scouting for guys, not really. Even if she were, this was hardly the place to do it.
David Nolan was possibly one of the sweetest guys Emma had ever met, honest and kind and passionate about his art, his six-string, and his girlfriend — who so happened to be the most important person in Emma’s life. His music always seemed to embody the finer points of his character, a gentle soul from somewhere out west with pick-ups and old mustangs and dirt roads. He was a country boy, affectionately dubbed a ‘shepherd’ by Mary Margaret, straight-shooting and genuine; and his gigs usually attracted the same kind of people. Emma didn’t generally attend with the intention of cornering a guy she could bring back to her apartment, not like she did the concerts at the Warehouses. For David she was only ever there for moral support, or she was with Mary Margaret.
Mary Margaret was backstage acting as a roadie for as long as he was in town and, well, Emma couldn’t help it. It had been a while since she’d had a decent lay. And she’d spent too long thinking about Neal Cassidy today.
(Nearly fourteen months to the day. Was he off somewhere, finding Tallahassee without her? Living without her? Breathing without her?
Asshole.)
If she wore a slightly shorter dress than she might ordinarily among the country crowd there wasn’t anyone around to judge her. There just didn’t appear to be anyone to notice, either. The venue was nothing like the Warehouses, relaxed, a large room with some rounded tables and a bar along one side, lit in a dim red glow from the florescent bulbs overhead but filled to the brim with quiet patrons. This was a waste of time, but then she’d known that from the off; she shouldn’t have bothered putting on make-up either. She’d worked her way through far too many tequila sunrises to make it to the end of the gig, and was getting ready to call it a night. Mary Margaret probably wouldn’t get in until morning given she and David usually went back to his place after a show, so there was no use waiting — which was why it would’ve been the perfect night for a one-and-done.
“Alright Kristoff, hit me with one for the road.”
The bartender arched an eyebrow. “You sure about that, Emma?”
She made an unimpressed noise and waved a hand, well aware her vision was already swimming a little. She wanted to sleep like the dead tonight. “Don’t be an ass. Give me my shot.”
Kristoff clicked his tongue in a way she knew was judgemental, but then he’d always been a bit like that — he was only looking out for her, really. Obediently he placed the salt shaker and a slice of lime on the countertop before pouring the gold liquid into a shot glass in front of her.
“Any chance of seeing that tab tonight?” he mused.
Emma was already shaking salt onto the back of her hand. “Another time, buddy.”
Without much ceremony she licked the salt from her hand, quickly threw the shot back and felt the liquid burn before chasing it with the lime. She left the fruit there only for a few seconds, sucking up the juices before dropping it back down into the empty glass. Grabbing her purse, she turned to stand when someone slid into the bar stool right beside hers, the action briefly cutting her off.
Her scrutiny found a smirk, stubble a few days old and bright blue eyes.
“What’s a dirty girl like you doing in a nice place like this?”
British, tall, and a voice like dark velvet. Emma hesitated — maybe not a total waste of time, then. “Is that the best you can do?”
“Depends,” the man made no secret of his admiring her assets, “can I buy you a drink?”
It All Starts With a Dance 