[Luck Harris]

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angel wings at the bus stop

halos left on top of the bar; heaven doesn't want me now

Luck had been coming to this small, hole-in-the-wall dive for years. The atmosphere was slow and casual, the air thick with the smell of good food, and the chatter from the decent-sized crowd that filled the seats was light-hearted and liberal with laughter. Football season hadn't officially started, but the threat of it loomed just around the corner. In a couple weeks, when preseason ended, the place would probably be a little more packed and rowdy. A little more charged. But for now, the small TVs hoisted above the bars and in the corners of the room were mostly ignored in favor of company and friends. [break][break]

The largest of the TVs, covering the center back wall, was currently being utilized for karaoke; as was typical for the first and third Fridays of any month. Luck had forgotten that fact. But he'd been far from put out by the people who, every once in a while, picked up a mic to mosey about the room and sing, either by themselves, with a partner, or even with a small group. It was entertaining. It was fun. Everyone was having a good time. [break][break]

He'd started the night off hours ago with a few friends. But when David couldn't keep his head from his arms on the table and Brandon had startled awake from where his chin had tucked to his chest a half-dozen times, Dave's wife claimed it was time to pack it in and edged everyone from their booth. [break][break]

Luck had stayed behind to nurse a couple more. His table had long been cleared of the food they'd all shared and, truthfully, it was past time for him to be headed home as well. But... he'd somehow become rooted. [break][break]

Perhaps, if he'd stood and gone when they'd all left — walked out of the bar with his friends (laughing and smiling while they all poked a little fun at one another and hugged each other goodbye with promises about "next time") — it would have been easier. But he hadn't. And, in the time that'd passed since, the idea of waiting for a ride by himself — sat quietly on a curb or a bench with nothing to distract him from the world's tilt or make it something to grin about instead of groan about — grew increasingly more depressing in his mind.[break][break]

And so he'd stuck. Put it off. [break][break]

He watched the current pair of people singing. They were young, obviously enamored, and not confident at all. Both sung horribly off-key and the lyrics were nearly unintelligible (the words mumbled and broken by breathy, uncertain laughs). But they kept their eyes on one another, uncaring of the performance itself, and encouraged themselves with nods and an unfaltering, daring sort of reassurance. [break][break]

But finally, they gave up — collapsing into one another with a much more decided and defeated giggle. They abandoned both mics on Luck's table before hurrying back to their seats (heads ducked and faces red). It was very cute. Luck grinned and chuckled, unable to help himself, as he finished the last of his beer and watched the words continue to highlight on the TV screen. Someone eventually paused them — leaving the final verse unfinished, half of the words in yellow and the other half in white.[break][break]

It was his last drink, he decided. He was far drunker than he'd planned to get tonight, but — he'd also been good. Stuck to beer and ordered nothing stronger. So the buzz in his brain and the tingle in his veins, it was still muted. Familiar, comforting, and far from the sweaty, thoughtless frenzy that hard liquor tended to spike through him. He stood and stretched, then laughed under his breath when he had to shoot out a hand to steady himself on the back of his booth. Once he felt stilled enough, he picked up the mics he'd been unexpectedly made responsible for and started toward the back of the room to replace them in their spot. Halfway there... he slowed and, with a starting smirk, lifted one to his mouth.[break][break]

"Anyone wanna finish what the lovebirds started?" He continued to mosey foward, but spun slowly as he did so to cast his droopy, glassy eyes about the room in search of a gaze to meet. He could hear the heaviness in his words — the twang that wasn't usually so pronounced and the even weightier slur of his tongue. But it wasn't discouraging. It still felt right, here, in this place, and he only quirked a brow and let his mouth tug further. "Aaaah, c'mon...," he closed an eye and tilted his head. "I'll letcha pick out the song, even. Just nothin' lonesome, hey?"

i don't believe that we were ever meant to be[break]
left underneath the light of dying stars

Tag: Ask if ya want tagged [break]
Open! They do not have to karaoke. Or they can be immediately awful and bail a couple bars in (hahahaha). You don't have to volunteer, either, if you'd rather Luck zero in on you and serenade/pull you from your seat or smth! Otherwise, he could trip over your shoes as he's walking around, knock your table, or whatever else! I'm open to ideas/directions so literally do anything you want lmao! [break]

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[Luck Harris]

[nospaces]

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angel wings at the bus stop

halos left on top of the bar; heaven doesn't want me now

Luck waited a long beat, drunk eyes scanning and brow lifting further and further with growing imploration. When no one seemed to bite, he raised his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug and cleared his face. "No? Alright. Suit yerselv's," his voice was flippantly amused, not at all perturbed or offended by his unanswered phish as he spun around to the grounded karaoke console to type in a too-familiar artist. From the mic, there was the brief sound of some muted grumbling as he had to re-type and re-type. The buttons were a bit squirrely from years of use. That, or his locating and pressing of the correct keys was a little squirrely from drink. [break][break]

The first chords finally toned and — it wasn't the song he'd intended, but... it'd do. Luck spun around, triumphant, as the guitar sang its jaunty, whiny bit, and he let his feet find the immediate groove of it; body loosening and falling into the beat as he moseyed back away from the console. He didn't need to look at the screen behind him to know the words, because was there a Matchbox Twenty song did he not know inside and out?[break][break]

"I feel stupid," he started confidently, mouth immediately tugging into a knowing grin as he cast his gaze about once more and let a brow quirk comically — making it known that, yes, he was quite aware of his drunkenness and ah, 'guys, didn't the lyric fit'? His eyelids fluttered and the next words sounded almost a chuckle as he continued. "But I know it won't last for long. And I've been guessing, but I could have been guessing wrong."[break][break]

On a typical day, in a typical crowd of strangers, he'd of had to have been cajoled and begged to karaoke — dragged from his seat, fighting more than half the way. He'd have read the words, not sung them. But the Luck that Luck was with at least seven glasses of beer in his belly, was... a little more like the Luck alone in his truck, driving down the road with the windows rolled down and the music dial turned to a deafening volume. There was very little shame in it as he worked his way through the room, meeting eyes and leaning toward tables, and he let his voice ring true and strong; let it dip where it was supposed to and rise where it was meant.[break][break]

"You don't know me now, I kinda thought that you should somehow. Does that whole mad season got you down?"[break][break]

It was a big contrast to the pair of nervous performers before. And probably an even bigger surprise to anyone who knew Luck only in the day, when he was bound too tight, thinking too long, and usually aching for what waited for him at home in his fridge. [break][break]

"Well, I feel stupid. But it's something that comes and goes," as the song continued, accompanied by brow leaps and fitting hand motions, Luck focused a bit more; searching the bar-goers for someone who looked suitable. Perhaps interested. Or for someone who foolishly held his eye a little too long. "And I've been changing, I think it's funny how no one knows." He considered reaching out with his empathy and feeling for someone who might be (even just a little) into it but he refrained. With his lack of sobriety, he wasn't certain he'd be able to reel it back in once he cast that net. And... he'd learned long ago that... sometimes... it was more fun to try and figure things out the natural way. "We don't talk about the little things that we do without when that whole mad season comes around."[break][break]

The beat picked up suddenly, the lyrics broke for only a swift moment to precede the more livening shift, and — knowing full-well this was the moment, both lyrically and musically — Luck chose his target. He let his mouth spread warningly as he held their gaze and moved in their direction. When he lifted the mic again, he sang the next words with a little extra verve, brow raising. "So, why ya gotta stand there looking like the answer now? It seems to me you'll come around," he held out a hand to seek theirs and started an encouraging nod as he laughed the line: "I need you now!"[break][break]

He attempted to sneak his fingers in the fold of their palm, somehow exercising both tender coaxing as well as a certain, stated encouragement. It was something he'd absolutely hate to happen to him when he was sober... it was something he'd feel wretchedly desperate to apologize for over and over when he was sober... but, at the moment, he only grinned as he tried urging his victim from their seat. "Do you think you can cope? You figured me out, that I'm lost and I'm hopeless..."

i don't believe that we were ever meant to be[break]
left underneath the light of dying stars

Tag: Open [break]
You now have two options for coming at this open thread! Option 1: I could delete this second post and you can reply to the first without it. Or Option 2: Be serenaded from your seat (or y'know, deck him in the face whatever lmao). Your choice, just let me know!

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[Charlotte Lewis]

Charlotte had, once again, slipped into a depressive episode, which had left her stuck at home for a while. Tonight, however, her friends had dragged her along to a club/bar-thingy she had never been to before. Most of them just wanted to grab a bite here before they moved on to another club, one that could actually be called a club. The blonde was hesitant to join them there, though. She was tired and didn't feel like watching her drink all night while dancing.

It did seem like a better idea to join them when the karaoke microphones came out and people started to sing songs she hadn't thought about in ages. Over the course of the night, Charlotte did have to admit she was starting to open up to the people singing, and even after her friends had left, she found herself still sitting in the booth, sipping her drink and stuffing the last few cold fries in her mouth.

She watched the couple giggle and sing together with a smile on her face. A part of her was sad, though. She felt a bit... Jealous? It had been a while since she had been in a warm embrace. She had had this crush a while ago, but she hadn't seen the guy since the last time in the park. Charlotte downed the rest of her drink and wiped her lip with the back of her hand, which she then raised to catch the attention of a waitress to order something even stronger.

Her eyes lingered on the waitress who was walking across the place, and it was then that her gaze caught Luck who had just started talking into a microphone. She frowned slightly, trying to place the face. It only took her a few moments to realise who he was, and where she knew him from. A grin formed on her face. His tongue was drunk, and the slurring made her feel comfortable with her own tipsiness. She pushed herself up with the help of the table and stumbled forward a bit, trying to maintain her balance. "How 'bout a duet", she said, loud enough to be heard over the conversations in the dive. Charlotte walked over to Luck and picked up the second microphone. "Any suggestions? A song about handymen? Plumbers?" She chuckled and closed one eye so she could see Luck clearly instead of double. "Or maybe something a little more catchy... Like... 'Piano man'?" The young woman turned towards the 'crowd' as if she was expecting applause and cheers for what she had just suggested. The small part of her that was sober enough to realise what was going on was praying that Luck remembered her and would help her make this situation less awkward.

OOC: went for option 1!

[Luck Harris]

[nospaces]

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angel wings at the bus stop

halos left on top of the bar; heaven doesn't want me now

A woman stood and spoke at his offer. Luck's slow, glassy gaze sifted to find her and his mouth pulled with a breathy laugh. Which then lifted to a more decided laugh when he realized he knew her. "Hey hey," — oh shit, what was her name? Jack? No, that was the dog. Kristie? No. Chrissy! Wait, no... closer, but no... that was the neighbor in the small pajamas. Or was that Kristie? He knew one was right and one was wrong. "Charlotte!" He landed on the name with confidence, shoulders shucking with another (triumphant) laugh. [break][break]

There was a deep and immediate kinship that came in recognizing someone was just as drunk as yourself. Luck could both see and hear it as Charlotte moved across the room. In the way she spoke, perhaps a little too loud for the sober bunch of them to appreciate. The almost (but not quite) subtle careen to her step. And the way she screwed shut an eye to peer at him when she grinned. It was a comfortable, feel-good drunk, it seemed... one that matched his perfect... and he wanted to laugh yet again. It was much like meeting someone's eye across a room and sharing a private joke. Silently acknowledging the buzzing keen in one another without saying anything and trying not to giggle about it. Like it was a secret. Or like no one else would quite get it.[break][break]

A song about handymen? Plumbers? Did she know one off the top of her head? He lifted his microphone to ask but, before he could, she suggested 'Piano Man' as an alternative and gave a slow spin to see what their peers thought. "Billy Joel," he half-laughed, half-snorted into his mic instead, eyes pinched tight while he shook his head.[break][break]

He didn't know why it was funny. He didn't mind Billy Joel. Like any and every lost boy grown up too fast, he'd let 'Vienna' pick him apart more than a couple of times while watching his headlights on dark, empty highways. And 'Piano Man' was a perfect karaoke tune. Classic. The harmonica would be oh-so-good — provide a great chance for some enthused pantomiming, at least — and the song itself swung from slow and melancholic to vibrant and fun throughout. It'd be amazing. Give them space to play around and have a time, hamming up both the moping and the verve.[break][break]

But he'd already laughed... as if the suggestion was amusing... so he had to follow through.[break][break]

"If that's the vibe, well... only natural I offer Springsteen as an alternative," as he spoke, he dropped an arm across her shoulders and jostled her to his side with a beam. If things had been awkward and hesitant on their first meeting, the drink in him dashed whatever tentativeness he might have felt upon their second. Meeting a stranger while sober was awkward. Running into someone you kinda knew while pleasantly sloshed was delightful. He simply didn't have the headspace to consider embarrassment or discomfort. His or hers.[break][break]

Picking up her lead with 'polling' the audience, he quirked an imploring brow and dragged his gaze about to gauge how the counter landed. "'Dancing in the Dark', anyone?" Like with Charlotte's initial suggestion, no one seemed particularly enthused or invested enough to play along immediately, so he lifted a flippant shoulder and made a dismissive noise in his throat before he turned back to her. "Rock paper scissors?" he asked, the corners of his mouth edging up as he pulled away to lift a fist between them. "You win, we do Billy. I win, Bruce." His brow jumped, chin dropping to his chest. "If it's Piano Man, though, you're doing all the la-di-di-da'ing."

i don't believe that we were ever meant to be[break]
left underneath the light of dying stars

Tag: Charlotte Lewis [break]
Quick and messy, give me a nudge for tweaks/changes! (I'm imagining Luck's mom definitely had a crush on Bruce Springsteen when he was a kid and Luck inwardly just side-eyeing her like, "bitch ya ain't special tf"~)

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[Charlotte Lewis]

The look on his face, accompanied by his laugh, made it clear that Luck remembered who she was. She grinned back, just happy to be there, really, to witness Luck trying to find a karaoke partner. Charlotte loved to sing, but her stage presence was limited to the guitar. She didn't particularly like to sing for people, but with enough drinks in her system and a karaoke machine ready for use, one could almost not refuse. The blonde didn't even realise how outgoing and laid-back Luck was acting, because the alcohol had made her less aware of just about anything, but perhaps the same could be said about her, although she had been pretty laid-back when he had met her already.

He even remembered her name, which surprised her. She smiled at him. His name was quite unique, which made it easy to remember, but Charlotte was such a common name, she was surprised it had stuck with him. "The one and only", she replied cheerfully.

Her Billy Joel idea made the young man laugh, which caused her to chuckle again as well. What was so funny? Didn't matter, didn't care. Laughter was contagious. He offered Springsteen in response and put an arm across her shoulders. Charlotte placed an arm around his back and happily leaned against him, almost losing her balance again. With her free hand, she pushed the strands of white-bleached hair out of her face, which only messed her hair up more than it already was. What about alcohol made your hair act so unpredictable and all over the place? Perhaps it was a representation of what was happing on the other side of the skull.

The people seemed to appreciate Luck's offer just as little as her own, but Charlotte still didn't care. It was all about her fun now. And Luck's fun. The people didn't matter.

"You've got yourself a deal", she said, pulling back as well so she could turn her body towards him, preparing her hands for the rock, paper, scissors, go bumps with her fist in her open hand before throwing one of the former gestures. She wouldn't mind signing all the la-di-di-da's. It was the most cheerful part of the song! The memory of a meme crept up on her, making her laugh a little. "For a song called Piano Man, the guy with the harmonica really never shuts the fuck up, huh" it had said. "Alright... Rock, paper, scissors-", she said, before throwing up paper. RPS was a game about luck, but she did know there was more to it. Men favoured rock, and women favoured paper. She decided on paper so she could beat his rock, if he came out with it.