2020-02-24 - The Fiddle Grunge Band

Niall the tall, lanky, silver-haired Kiwi is currently leaning on a railing overlooking the, well, quite frankly, bumping dance floor. For whatever reason, the mid-winter has brought everyone out to sweat the damp and cold away and to blow off some cabin fever. He doesn't really fit in here. Well, he fits in in the pacific northwest, but not a club on a Friday night. He's wearing skinny dark washed denim cuffed at the ankles, and a red plaid shirt rolled up to the elbows. There's a gray wool hat sticking out of his back pocket that he was apparently wearing until the heat got too much. He's got a plastic cup with the darkest beer they serve and he's taking the occasional sip.

Tobin almost never comes to the Firefly Club. It's not a place that he tends to hang out at all, not even when he was younger and other kids his age would go. But for whatever reason, he's here tonight. The house probably got far too quiet, and too much time in his head was getting to him. He doesn't really look like he belongs, either. He's certainly not dressed up for dancing in his long-sleeved t-shirt in white, a green and blue flannel, and his jeans and boots. But there are people to watch, and he seems to be doing a bit of that as he idly drifts around at a slow pace, heading toward the bar to order himself something to carry around with him and look like he might drink it.

Ainslie O'Connor is in the strange territory of fitting in here, and... not, really. It works because grinding, bumping, generally hectic crowds don't scare her. Not in the least. Clad in a pair of black skinny denims with a tunic-style red-and-black plaid blouse with quarter-length sleeves. Dark hair is pulled up atop her head in a riotous bun. Alongside the skin-tight club attire that she is meandering her way through, she kinda doesn't fit the bill. THIS is where she veers into 'does not fit' territory.

Bless Ainslie, zero effs given. She tips a huge snifter of a honey ale to her lips, weaving her body to avoid the thrusting twerk of a girl on the dance floor who is already three sheets to the wind, as her darling mother used to say. Ainslie snickers into her drink and makes for the bar, the remaining froth of her drink sliding down her throat. She eeks her way past Niall, tips her empty glass to him. "She's boppin' tonight, eh?" A big grin.. accent is hard to place. The bar is her obvious trajectory.

"I suppose she is," says Niall in a quasi-deadpan way to Ainslie above the crowd. Even with just a handful of words, there's a certain nasality to his accent that marks him as other. "I'm glad I'm not the only one," he says, motioning to his plaid, her plaid and...a scan of the room, and a lift of his glass towards Tobin's plaid. "We all got the memo. These people in their skintight leather and sequins clearly they didn't. Buncha fashion victims." Clearly he's not serious.

Tobin obtains a beer of his own up at the bar, giving a nod to the 'tender. Thus armed with something to do with his hands, he resumes his idle meanderings just in time to see the lift of the glass in his direction, which gives him a moment's pause, since he doesn't recognize the person on the other end of it. He offers a slightly confused smile and a loft of his own alcohol filled accessory before noticing the plaid contingent. Then he does actually laugh a bit when he gets closer. "We could form a grunge band, except that I have no musical ability whatsoever," he says to the pair of them in general.

She tosses her head back with unabashed laughter, gesturing to Niall's choice of plaid. Boisterous as the sound is, it's lost to the thump of the music. "True that! Hah," Another staccato of contagious laughter, "We know what we're doing. Their loss. Tell ya, the way they're all going out there," An encompassing gesture toward the busy dancefloor, "The sequins won't stand a chance." She chimes merrily... she looks and sounds as if she is right where she wants to be. Another joins their plaidness and Ainslie levels a smile to Tobin next, lifting her glass in greeting. "I can get behind that. I can't sing with a damn, but I can play a fiddle." She squints between the two of them.. no shyness, no sign of aloofness. "Either of you fellas sing?"

"Since when did that stop any grunge band in the history of ever?" says Niall in response to Tobin when he talks of musical talent. "I can sing." A beat, "In that, I can open my mouth and say words really loud. You might not like what you hear, though. But again..." he head-wobbles, "If we're talking grunge, nobody'd notice. We just need..." he motions vaguely to their respective uniforms.

"I can see it now," Tobin says with a little wry smile, "The first fiddle grunge band." He shakes his head though and says, "I sing along to the radio, but I'm pretty sure it's terrible. I wouldn't inflict it on someone else intentionally." He gestures a little bit with his glass. "Probably best to stick to just people watching, for me. Playing the fiddle is cool, though. At the risk of sounding a little dumb -- what's the difference between a fiddle and a violin?"

Stefhan figures that now is a good time for a diversion from his typical work schedule. Some clubs are more familiar than others, and such he walks on in, glancing around to see if anyone is familiar to him. Not seeing anyone of particular interest to him, he comes on in to get a beer.

Though she's a bit loud, the lean drinky creature known as Ainslie is outright ebullient. It's earnest, outright friendliness and it's not even bourne of her now-empty drink. Amber eyes drop down toward said glass, looking at the last few dismal clouds of froth. But the conversation at hand is Important and she turns a big grin back up to her new acquaintances. Fellow Plaid Soldier and Dual-Colored Flannel Chap. Despite herself she feels a deep, biting pain of homesickness.

Best thing is that they're feeding into the comedy. One more bark of laughter to Niall, and Ainslie grins to Tobin, "Ain't no difference... same instrument. One, you make the violin sing sweet sad songs. Slow and ponderous.. ain't my thing. Fiddle is a violin that doesn't give a shit... those fast ditties that make a room dance. It all depends on how you play the same instrument." She pauses, stepping side for Stefhan and smiling a greeting, as he quests for the bar. This reminds her. "Time for a refill, I reckon."

"As I recall, one involves ball gowns and tails, the other involves stomping." Niall makes a vague gesture after that. "And drinking. And maybe kilts with nothing on underneath." He tips back a sip of his beer and looks around. "Now I want to hear fiddles and less untz untz." The music is indeed doing the untz untz thing right now as bodies jump and pulse on the floor.

"I guess that makes sense," Tobin says when Ainslie and Niall enlighten him on the difference between violin and fiddle. "I think I'd rather hear a stompy ditty right now than something slow and ponderous, to be honest." He smiles a bit at Niall and says, "Probably not going to hear a lot of fiddling in here unless it's changed a lot since the last time I was in.. which.. it doesn't seem to, really. Though I'm pretty sure that there are some places just outside of town where fiddling would be a lot more common."

Stefhan chuckles a little as he hears the reference to Scots. "Crazy celts." He chuckles as he overhears the conversation, "With how cold it is over there, you'd think they'd want to keep all their naughty bits covered. As far as music, I wish I had any talents to play an instrument. I do not have such abilities." Maybe a bit of a bold statement since he just stepped into the chat. If a server looks his way though he says, "Beer, for tonight, the darker the better." Assuming that it is night.

"One of 'em out there just about untz untz'ed themselves right into my lap, upright... that takes skill. Lord s--" She catches herself. In the measured manner of one trying to tailor their slang to 'fit in' Ainslie reiterates: "I got myself a lapdance standing up. Just on my way over to get a grog. Not quite sure if a fiddle would suit this fracas." She laughs, not being negative re: the whole night club untz untz. She likes to see people having fun.

To Niall, "It's true y'know." Said over her shoulder, as she is now orbiting the bar to get much of the same of what she's already been sampling. "About the kilt bit. Flying free." Stefhan joins the clutch and he's welcomed immediately, as if he'd been there from the start. "Abilities are overrated... people are having enough fun? What you offer is just fine. Hey, tender? I'll have what he's having." She seconds Stefhan's request. Just like that.

Back to Tobin and Niall, "I take it ya'll ain't local?"

"I am actually," says Niall to Ainslie's question of being a local. He lets that sit for a moment, considering he is a very obvious Kiwi who does not look like most locals. "...I was born here. Mum's from here. But then they scooped me up and took me back to New Zealand when I was wee." Niu Zillund. A beat, and then before sipping, he deadpans, "Free lapdance. Nothing to sneeze at."

Tobin can't help but laugh just a little bit at Ainslie's encounter with the twerking drunk, "That does take some talent, or just bad luck." He seems to relax a little bit as the conversation goes on, seeming perhaps a little less awkward after a few minutes. He offers no insight on the topic of kilts, just smiling a little bit and finally taking a sip of whatever it is in his glass that he ordered. It seems to be a beer, something on the more pale end of the spectrum. "Oh, I am, local that is," he says to Ainslie when she asks. "Lived here my whole life." His lips twitch a little and he chuckles, "I suppose. If you wanted a lap dance in the first place." Though he gives Stefhan a nod in greeting when the man joins them. "Evening."

Stefhan reaches for his glass of beer as it's brought over and he lifts it toward Tobin, a way of offering a greeting. "Good Evening to you as well." he says, "Lap dances can be fun things, not that I would ever come close to doing them." He chuckles and says, "They might pay me to make me stop." The man in the business suit obviously has a sense of humor, "And New Zealand, now that's a place that I have always wanted to go. The movies showed it was just fantastic." Then a response toward Ainslie and he tries not to laugh, "One standing up, isn't that a pole dance? That's definitely something I have never done."

With her newly-filled drink, winking darkly in the subdued pulsing lights, Ainslie pushes off from the bar but stays within proximity to the three men with whom she's been yucking it up. How many is this now? She's had three drinks so far but save for her movements being relaxed, it's hardly touched her. The drink is but a patina of cheer in her manner, "The dancer.. I remember what she looked like.. the sequins just about bounced off of her. Can point her out if you're curious." Ainslie jests to Niall in that easy way, but her smile is kind. Then awed. "New Zealand! Wow! Now you're back here... what brought you back?" She asks of the Kiwi without guile. She's curious.

Ainslie is also noting Tobin's slow relaxation, "That is pretty amazing, too... most I've encountered have been transplanted like myself. My name is Ainslie, by the mind. What can I call you lot?" Her gaze slides, indicating all three in her company.

Stefhan's words earn another burst of laughter, "She was the dancer, I was the friggin' pole." Her lips crook at their corners, "I'm not from here... ya'll will laugh at me, if I tell." She takes a deep gulp of her drink.

"Fraid there are no actual hobbits or dragons though," says Niall with the same sort of deadpan delivery. "Believe me, I've checked." He glances around the bar and cracks a grin for the first time back at Ainslie. He's been pretty deadpan up until now. "S'allright. There's a strip club in town if that's why I'm after." He drains the rest of his beer and sets the cup down on the nearest surface. "I'm Niall. And I'm your friendly neighbourhood. Regionhood. Park Ranger. I was posted on the other side of the park the last couple've years, but some arsehole seems to think I've got management potential so now I'm managing Station 676, which is the one closest to town."

Tobin smiles just a touch awkwardly at Stefhan, as though not quite sure how to react to him, but it's still a bit of a smile and he takes another sip from his glass, as though that might help. "Oh, there's plenty of us from here who have been here for a while, but there are always new folks coming and going. Some stay, some move on. Just like anywhere else, I'd imagine." And when she asks for names he says, "Tobin. Nice to meet you, Ainslie. I like that name. Where are you from then? Somewhere south, by the y'alls." He smiles and adds, "I doubt I'd laugh. Unless you tell me that you're from Germany or Sweden.. then I might be confused." He chuckles at Niall and says, "Well that's fortunate. I mean, Hobbits seem like nice enough folk but I'm glad to hear it's dragon-free." He's had enough dragons for one year, personally. "Congratulations on the promotion?" Tobin hazards, though it's a question, since it doesn't seem that Niall sees it that way.

Stefhan hears an introduction being made and decides to offer one himself. He looks at Ainslie first and says, "Stefhan Rosenberg, new business owner and definitely came from outside of town. Seems that there are townspeople or outsiders who are still learning things about the community. I'm learning new things everyday apparently."

"Management! Well, congrats to you." Ainslie offers, tipping her glass again. Another swig; she looks pleased at her current selection. "I haven't been out to explore the wilds surrounding town, not in the year since I rolled in. Just working to get my nestegg back. Nothing but work." She doesn't seem keen on mention what she does... no, no.. not seedy. Nothing of the sort. Just something so incredibly uninteresting.

"A pleasure, Tobin," Offered next, once the moment is right. A fond glimmer arises in her gaze at mention of 'the south'. "My father (sounds like 'fadder) is from the southern states. He was taken with my mother while he was touring Eastern Canada... s'where she's from, obviously. I'm a mutt.. a Canuck by birthright."

Finally to Stephan, a wide grin. "Here we are... a transplant like myself.. but definitely more of a go-getter. What sort of business, Stephan?"

"Yeeey. Paperwork. Whaaa." Niall puts both hands up and kind of waves them around vaguely. Which draws the attention of a bartender, which is good because he needs a drink. He orders another beer. "Well, I think you and me are in a race for 'furthest away.' Though I think we'd need to get out Google Maps to check actual distances, and I came here not to stare at my phone," this to Ainslie.

"Ah," Tobin says when she explains where she is from and smiles, "That's cool. Why would anyone laugh at that? I've heard it's lovely out that way. I haven't been, but I've seen pictures." Then he smiles a little bit wryly to Niall and says, "Okay, fair point. Paperwork is not my favorite part of my job either," in admittance. "I think New Zealand is likely farther since it's in the southern hemisphere, if I were to hazard a guess." He considers that, as though picturing a globe in his mind. He's quiet though when Ainslie asks Stefhan what sort of business he is in, perhaps interested to hear the answer, as well.

Stefhan begins to speak of his business with a wide smiles. His proud tone of voice seems to indicate he is quite happy with his projects and things. "The Hub is a computer repair place, also specializing in network design. If clients need networks installed, I can make that happen. If clients need computers built or fixed well, The Hub is the place. Simple business really, but it has potential growth for sure."

There is activity out on the dancefloor that catches Ainslie's eye. Did someone just call her over?

Tobin pretty much sums up what would have been her far less-eloquent answer, however. "Very, very correct. You take the cake for being further out... I don't remember the flight all-that-well in my case. I was asleep for most of it." Ainslie chuckles, "I wish you well in your work.. congratulations again." She offers to Niall earnestly.

To Tobin, "Home is the most beautiful place in the world, at least to me. Maybe someday I will go back but it can't be anytime soon." A sad little nuance to her smile, swiftly squashed. "This has been great though..." she trails off to hear out Stefhan's explanation.

Brightens, then. "Well! I know who to go to when my laptop bites the big one. It's the same one I landed with, and I had it when I lived up Toronto way a few years back. A real gaggin' dinosaur. I will need to upgrade soon though.. it can't handle Skype quite like it used to. Maybe I'll look you up soon when I get a bit more coin to my name." Ainslie laughs, pauses. There's that gesturing from the dance floor, but at the edges. She squints. "Hell, I'm being called over... I'd better see what's going on." Damnit, looks like Luanne needs to get to a bathroom, stat, to upchuck her one-too-many bellinis mixed with fireball. Barf. "It was nice to meet you guys. Have fun, eh?"

Stefhan finishes off his beef and checks the time on his watch. "Time moves too fast for me at times." He puts down a 20 for the drink and stands. "Lovely meeting everyone, but back to work I go it seems. Be safe out there." Bundling up in his coat, he heads out.

Niall lifts a salute towards Ainslie. "Godspeed, plaid sister," he says with enough earnest inflection to make a joke of it. "I was supposed to meet someone here myself. I suppose I should wander around and see if I jostle shoulders with them. I call this first meeting of our fiddle grunge band a success. Go team. Et cetera." And after retrieving and paying for his beer, he lifts it in a salute to those remaining. "Gents." And then the lanky Kiwi is wandering off.

Tobin lifts his glass in salute as the inaugural meeting of the grunge fiddle band breaks up and everyone goes their separate ways. "Have a good night," he says to those gathered, and then continues on his way, continuing to idly drift through the crowd.