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Strong Hand || Frank & Athena

TIMING: Present LOCATION: Soul on the Rocks PARTIES: @frankmulloy and @athenaquinn SUMMARY: A fae and a hunter walk into a bar... and then there’s Hughie.

Frank heard the reactions, born from her entrance alone, before he even saw her. Now that he looked up it was clear from his usual view from the bar that within the dim-lit picture that spanned out in front of him, something did not belong. A head of long yellow hair, to be specific. One, she was young. Two, she looked much too clean, too put together, to properly belong in the typical crowd that Soul attracted. Of course, that wasn’t to say that they didn’t take a liking to her. Frank watched as quiet fascination graduated to bold introductions; offers to buy her a drink, or bum her a smoke. Creepy-Joe remained stationary in his usual corner, watching but doing little else otherwise. Nothing offensive enough to warrant intervention so Frank returned his attention to the tasks at hand, cleaning and filling drink orders, all while keeping his attention outward for anything unseemly--or at least, by Soul’s standards. He didn’t notice how long time had passed or how long the girl had been sitting at the bar before she had flagged his attention. She was close enough for him to get a good look at her now and his suspicions were confirmed: much too young. Frank threw his towel over his shoulder, the usual distance of 6 feet maintained, “you got an ID for that order?”

She wasn’t stupid. Athena knew full-well that Soul on the Rocks was not her crowd. She’d lived in town all her life - which was certainly long enough and knew that of all the places to sneak into, that was usually the last on her list. The Bullet was where she preferred, and even though many of the people there had known her since she was a child they were alright with turning a blind eye and letting her order a proper drink. Sometimes, at least. However, she also knew that she was stubborn and that meant taking her fake ID and borrowing a leather jacket from one of the girls in her sorority and driving over to the bar. Part of her regretted the decision the second she opened the door and she felt all eyes on her - and though she loved attention, this was not exactly in the way that she typically preferred. Especially since most people in the bar were well-over the age of twenty-one and even over twenty-five or six. However, Athena was not one to back down from any challenge and so she tossed her hair over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at the offers to drink or smoke. “You know smoking kills you, right?” She bit back at one man. Before she could register his response, she felt her body tense up. Fae. There was a fae here and she couldn’t pinpoint exactly who the fae was just yet because there were far too many people backed into the bar. Taking in a deep breath, she made her way over to the counter. There was only one man behind the bar and she felt her skin crawl. Which meant he had to be the fae. Or at the very least she was in closer proximity to whoever the fae was. She pressed her palms against her thighs for a moment, grounding herself before she responded. “I do.” She flashed him a smile. Athena found that she regretted choosing a thin layer of lipgloss over the darker lipstick that Julia had offered her. She knew that she looked young, but usually a little flirting with a bartender made them forget that. Not yet willing to hand over her ID, she twirled her hair around her fingertips and leaned onto the countertop. Her skin was crawling, but she wasn’t going to give in. She was stronger than that. “I am admittedly newly twenty-one. Well, newly as in a few months ago.” She could feel the eyes of some of the other patrons on her. “Do you really need to see my ID? What’s the harm in a little trust?”

Frank recognised the lip-glossed smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes but if you tried hard enough you might be able to convince yourself that it did, artful twirling of her finger around her hair, the honey sweet tone that coated every word that came out of her mouth. Jake would have melted. Perhaps Frank would have too had he been younger, known less about what he was, what he could do. Before he had his good nature beaten out of him, not that there was any evidence on his skin as proof to the claim. The proof was ingrained in muscle memory and instinct, which manifested outwardly in carefully trained behaviour; like keeping his distance, and his hands, to himself—along with drinking himself into stupor in the hopes that it might dull the effect of any…influence that might have slipped past his guard. Which happened a lot more often than he liked to admit.

As she smiled up at him and Frank…well, his face was smoothed of any emotion to assume one of patient indifference. He was older now...and he wasn’t Jake. “Sure you are.” His arms were crossed over his chest, his finger tapping patiently against his side. While he might have let slide the little game she thought she was playing if they were at the Perfect Pint, the fact was, they weren’t. While it was of no fault of her own, Frank was also not oblivious to the eyes she attracted. “Look at where you are kid, you think this the sort of place that breeds trust?” He had half a mind to send her home now, though experience warned that- that was a sure road to a bad ending, one way or another. Then again, what did it matter? She wasn’t his responsibility, what the fuck did he care? He shouldn’t care about Ariana either but alas—he did care, and he cared now. Fuck. “Look, if you ain’t got an ID, I’m gonna send you home. Next time get a fake one or something.”

She noticed him watching her. Not that it was hard, being in such close proximity, but she felt uncomfortable regardless. Uncomfortable but necessary. Athena knew that she couldn’t very well kill this fae in the middle of a bar - though if there were a bar to do it, Soul on the Rocks seemed like just the place. Unfortunately, as unresponsive as he was to her hair-twirling, a man just down the bar was not - and he had to be at least in his late thirties. Athena rolled her eyes, adjusting her position - learning her arms further onto the bar, chin resting in the palm of her hand. She knew that she was attractive, and although the last thing she wanted was for a fae to be attracted to her (though how wonderful of an advantage would that be - what a way to get them all alone), if it got her something she needed, she could deal with it. It only further proved that she was good at masking her identity.

“I am.” She said, voice even. Her eyes narrowed at the kid remark, “well, I don't know, but can’t you just trust anyone?” Athena fought away the urge to smirk, instead letting her eyes grow wide. She was good enough at people watching to fake naïvety when the situation called for it. To fall into who she might have been if she and her brother shared more personality traits. “I do have an ID.” She slid it out of her wallet, handing it over to him. Joan Parrish, it read - not a total lie, though far from her real name - after all, she couldn’t have her parents getting in trouble, as they were upstanding members of the community. “Told you.” She tapped her nails on the countertop. “So, do I get a drink for free? I heard that sometimes if you’re lucky, that happens. I’ve already been offered that from other people here!” She could feel the cold iron of one of her knives against her hip, but she couldn’t use it. Not now. She could consider this a recon mission of some sort.

Frank answered her question with silence and a pointed look, his brows raised, as if the answer to the question seemed obvious enough that it needed no response. The word trusting and Frank could not be further opposites, anyone who knew him knew this, and even those who didn’t learned very quickly. He waited, watched, for the younger woman to produce her ID. When she does, he doesn’t take it from her hand, but waits until she puts it on the bar top. Joan Parrish. It was her face on the small card, and the date of birth proved that she was of age—if one was in the habit of trusting everything they read. Frank was not. Even if it didn’t, he seldom poured any great effort into inspecting anyone’s IDs, it was just a matter of doing his due diligence. Still doubtful of its authenticity, he returned the ID anyway (returning it to the bar top before stepping away for her retrieval). Her apparent confidence prompted an amused grin to crack over his lips, a chuckle building first in the depth of his chest which then formed the beginning of his words, “that might have worked on Jake kiddo, but I ain’t Jake. So I guess that means you ain’t so lucky tonight. Think about what you can afford and then get back to me, yeah?”

No sooner had the words left his mouth, a particularly eager patron broke through the throng and claimed an empty seat at the bar. He’ll pay for whatever the little lady wants, he said and he smiled and he turned that smile to her, and then Frank wasn’t smiling anymore. “Fuck off Jerry,” the word sliced through the noise and he said them without hesitation. “If you think she’s gonna go anywhere with you, you’ve got another thing coming, so walk on.” The man—Jerry’s mouth opened as the beginning of a retort was forming, Frank turned his gaze on him again, and wisely, he thought better of it and slinked off. Frank’s height and general aloofness afforded him an influence that was untouched by any sort of supernatural advantage, this served him tremendously in a place like Soul, while it didn’t help him back any friends he’s convinced himself that he liked that just fine. He turned back to the younger woman, Joan Parrish, a little apologetic, he did just rob her of a free drink. “I mean, do whatever the fuck you want. You can call him back if you really want that drink, he’ll be more than happy to come back if he thinks he’s got a shot.”

Athena watched the man inspect her ID. The rumors that she’d heard about Soul on The Rocks tended to imply that she wouldn’t be asked for her ID, but considering she’d accidentally walked into a place of employment of a fae, she figured that luck was not especially on her side tonight. “I don’t know who Jake is,” she responded, giving a shrug. “This is my first time here.” First and last, probably. Though she wanted to find out more about the man - find out as much as she could. Even though she knew her parents would frown upon her being in the bar, if she could learn more about the fae, then perhaps all would be forgiven. That was, if they ever even found out what she was up to. She hid very little from them, which meant that they very rarely suspected that she did anything but what exactly she told them.

However, as another man came over and began offering to buy her a drink, looking her up and down, she twisted her lips into something of a half-frown. Even if he wasn’t way older than her, he was entirely not her type. This might have been a mistake, Athena was starting to realize. Continuing to realize, if she were more willing to be honest with herself. If nothing else, the dim lighting and completely not her style music were signs that she probably shouldn’t have even bothered coming. He was defending her? The thought practically made Athena’s blood boil. She didn’t need defending, particularly not from a fae, but a small part of her figured that in any other scenario, she would be at least a bit grateful. It just had to be a fae, didn’t it? “Are you kidding me?” She practically spat. “No way ever. I do in fact have a solid head on my shoulders, and that means I don’t go off with strange men.” She was always deeply fascinated at how unaware fae could be when it came to who she was. Not that it was something she’d ever dare complain about, but it amused her all the same. “I think I’d like a hard cider though, and I can pay.”

“Clearly.” He said, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, closed lipped and crooked, but still with its soft edge. Despite what his appearance, and his general demeanour even, might suggest, Frank was never very good at playing condescending or deceitful. Everything about him was always painfully honest. He was private, and liked his privacy, but was always truthful. Some might suggest the latter was the unfortunate side effect of his supernatural inheritance, but that was all Frank. While anyone’s introduction to Soul was a source of amusement, especially someone inexperienced with the bar’s particular crowd, a quiet wariness always hummed beneath the surface, ready to spring to action at a moment’s notice. “Ah—yeah, don’t worry about Jake. If you’re lucky you won’t have to know him.”

The cute coy-school-girl routine dropped for a moment, and the little tiger showed her teeth. A consequence of instinct and character rather than anything so superficial. People were always infinitely more interesting than the mask they put on for others. He wasn’t sure if she thought her little flirting game would work on him—and then he wondered whether he should be more concerned if he gave her an impression that it would—but if she failed to catch his attention before, she’s certainly got it now. “Kudos to you kid. You might actually survive this shit hole.” He said as he reached for the glass and began filling it with the question. Of course it’s a fucking cider. Soul wasn’t exactly known for its extensive cider collection, most opted for any option that got them the most drunk at the lowest cost. Cider was not exactly the bar’s drink of choice. “Your hard cider, Joan Parrish.” With the practice of one who’s done it a hundred times before, Frank slid the cider across the bar, the glass coming to stop at her hand with a gentle tap. His distance rule strictly obeyed. Ducking his head into the kitchen, Frank called to one of the workers there, one hand already in his jacket pocket to produce a little white box of cigarettes as he called for someone to get their ass out here while he takes his fucking smoke break. To Joan, he said, “you can pay Hughie for that cider, Joan Parrish.” To Hughie, he said, “Joan Parrish still needs to pay for her cider,” and added in a hushed tone, “and do me a favour, keep the creeps away from her please?” And then he was out the back door, a lone cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“Not that obvious, mister.” Athena wanted to bristle. Did, internally at least. If he was so damn keen on calling her kid then she’d fire right back. That was all she could do, right now. She wondered for a moment if there were any hunters in the bar. “Why, is he so much more boring than you are?” There was a giggle that followed her words, one that was likely too light and airy - more carefree than she usually found herself. One that drew a few more eyes as she finally resorted to covering her lips with a hand, refocusing back on the man. Apparently, acting overly calm and eager could do something of a wonder to stop her skin from completely crawling, though a certain part of her wanted to pull at it, just as she did whenever there were fae around, and particularly the ones who looked human.

“Trust me, I’m good at surviving a whole lot of things.” He seemed clueless enough to what she really was that she doubted that he’d take that remark as anything beyond a perhaps overly-confident co-ed, and that worked just fine for her. She wasn’t afraid to bite back if some creep thought they had half a chance with her. Athena had to admit she was a bit impressed the bar had a cider - though she knew it was a decently popular drink, this bar seemed far more the type of place to just have mediocre beer - though she supposed the same could be said about any number of the frat parties she went to. She caught the glass easily, curiosity piqued at the fact that he was staying away from her, potentially from any possible contact. She filed that away in her mind for later examination, for later when she was away from the bar that was practically buzzing. With a certain energy that she found herself equally repulsed and intrigued by. Incredibly unlike the life she was usually a part of, and for a moment she found herself feeling naïve - at least to a certain level. I wonder if that’s what my brother feels like all the time, Athena pondered for a moment before looking back over to the man, who was now leaving. “You’ll be back, won’t you?” She called out, before focusing on whoever else the fae had sent to babysit her. “How much do I owe you?” She asked Hughie, looking him up and down before pulling out her wallet and pulling out a twenty. “This should be enough, right? When’s my friend coming back over? Can’t believe he left right in the middle of our conversation.” A small pout formed on her lips. “So, Hughie? Name or nickname?” She took a sip of her drink, not quite focusing on him, but instead on the direction where the other man had gone, as if daring him to come back.

Mister. Frank noted a hint of derision that was lent to the word, a childish retort that was probably meant to rebel against the label he had given her. It was precisely something a kid would do, and it prompted a faint smile to curve at the edge of his lips. Then she giggled, and it was an uncommon enough sound that it attracted even more curious glances, thirsting for the pretty young flesh that had so generously presented herself to them at the bar. This time however, the boldness stopped at the glances; no one seemed particularly interested in following in Jerry’s misguided footsteps, or at least as long as Frank was still working the bar. So business went on as usual, at least for now. “Nothing stopping you from finding different company,” he raised his eyebrow in a kind of challenge, leaned forward just slightly, while still keeping respect to his six feet rule, “let’s just say, you giggle enough times and you can probably get as many free drinks as you want outta him.” That alone, Frank thought, spoke volumes about his particular…character. There was a reason Frank and Jake didn’t get along. Although Frank’s insistence that he was a slimey asshole (usually to his face) probably burned any bridges they had for reconciliation, which suited him just fine.

“Are you now?” There was something about Joan Parrish that Frank had come to enjoy—almost endear. Or the very least, found to be a source of light amusement. A certain battle-hardened naivety about her that appealed. No normal person was so quick to declare that they have survived things, and it spoke to something that she did. An unknown history that Frank was not privy to, and was still debating on whether he cared enough to want to be. Or maybe she was just a kid who said things she didn’t mean. Either way, that was a little note he tucked away, to be revisited later. She was drawn to him, for whatever reason, that much was obvious, or she wouldn’t have called out to him. He was suddenly very self-conscious of his abilities, one that seemed to operate of its own volition, sometimes even without him knowing. He spared a glance back at her but didn’t answer, and found himself that much more eager to get out and get himself back together. “He’ll be back,” Hughie answered for him, “he takes a lot of those…his smoke breaks. But he works harder than anyone here, and closes up after everyone and throws the assholes out, so the boss lets him.” He was not as tall as Frank, and was a skinny looking thing that could have a few years over Joan, but was definitely younger than Frank. Not a fae, but charming enough to be, certainly a lot more forthcoming than Frank was. He took the money from her and busies himself with getting her change, “plenty, thanks—and no, Frank hasn’t got any friends. I don’t know if you’ve met the man but he doesn’t exactly scream friendly. And god forbid he comes within a mile of you, literally. The day that man actually hands you a drink, will be the day hell freezes over. Oh, name’s Hugh, but everyone calls me Hughie which I think sounds a lot more…” His eyes look between the girl and the door, and then he laughs, “that son of a bitch. A little old for you isn’t he?”

She could feel the eyes on her and she shrugged it off. Even if they tried something, and something about the fae behind the bar seemed to be keeping them away, but even if they tried something Athena had no qualms dealing with them on her own terms. If anyone asked, it was easy enough to say that she’d trained at her mother’s gym - or rather, Linda Quinn’s, since she wasn’t Athena, not right now. Soon enough she wouldn’t need the fake, but it was working overtime to her advantage right now. Both for getting her into the bar and for keeping her proper identity secret from the fae behind the bar - though her face would remain the same - but if it came to that - when it inevitably did, unless someone else got to it first - it wouldn’t matter. “Mm,” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder before she refocused back on him, watching as he leaned just slightly closer to her. “Well, he seems like a skeevy kind of guy, then, though I appreciate the tip.” Her lips curved up into a smirk. “Good to know how to get free drinks if I feel a need for it.” She adjusted the jacket, a sudden chill rolling through her body, though she couldn’t tell if it was due to someone opening the door or the continued presence of a fae so very close to her.

“I am.” She replied. He didn’t reply much beyond that, didn’t ask probing questions that could have so easily come along with it. That sometimes did, if she happened to off-handedly mention it to anyone else. Which she usually didn’t, or followed it up with how tiring being pre-med was - which wasn’t a total lie. It just wasn’t as tricky to figure out as some of the creatures she’d studied. Studied and dealt with, though Athena didn’t find any of that too difficult in the end, either. She gave a small huff at his utter lack of response, but allowed herself to refocus on Hughie who was, thankfully, not fae. She let her gaze flick up and down, taking him in, letting a smile settle on her lips once again. “Well, hard work should be rewarded.” Athena had half a mind to follow him outside, because then they would be all alone - but it was too obvious, too easy to point to her, and besides, Hughie seemed certainly more willing to talk to her. She pocketed the change, not looking back behind her again - any of the other creeps in the bar were at least maintaining their distance, whatever else they were doing mattered little to her. Inconsequential, in the end. “Well,” she began, biting her lip in false shyness once again, “his tricks are something.” He didn’t like to touch people. Her mind was spinning, narrowing down to what he might be. Of course, there was always the chance of being an overly-cautious fae, but she also knew there were certain ones for whom touch played a role. “Hughie’s a nice nickname. I -” she couldn’t fight back another laugh of her own, still light and carefree, at his next remark. “Oh him?” Tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth, she weighed her options. “I mean, I guess? He seems to care so much though, and what’s not appealing about that? He is old though. Well, comparatively speaking.” She permitted her gaze to focus on the door for a few moments more - a few moments beyond what might have been typical, before refocusing on Hughie. “Nice of you to stick around and keep me company though, I do appreciate that.”

A light blush coloured his cheeks, but he never shied away from flattery. Hughie blossomed under praise and kind words, a stark contrast to his co-worker who bristled at them, and guarded himself against them with a defensive word or cold silence. A sure way to sever any ties before it had even a chance to form. That was Frank. Hughie threw his head back and laughed, and if the word honest could be attributed to any laugh, it would be his. There was nothing derisive or sarcastic, not even a waver that might suggest jealousy. “Trust me Joan, you would not be the first, or the last person, to think that—or the first or the last to try. That is if you’re into the whole tall, quiet, mysterious and stupidly good looking types.” A stroke of luck with his god-given genes, some might say. Though ‘lucky’ was not the word Frank would use, and despite being raised Catholic, Frank didn’t believe in God. “Although to his credit, I think he does care, like genuinely. He looks out for people, he breaks up fights—well, I say ‘break up fights’, but he mostly just gets his ass handed to him. And then he goes and pays for their cab so they can get home. I mean Frank can be an ass, but it’s hard to hate the guy.” Hughie noted once more her wandering gaze back to the door, for a split second too long, and a hint of pity was found in the smile that now shaped his lips. “He is old—comparatively speaking. Although I should probably also tell you that he hasn’t shown any interest in anyone. Not once, not as long as I’ve worked with him anyway.” When her focus shifted back to Hughie, he was all mush in her hands. His grin was all teeth, both stupidly sincere and shamelessly pleased. “I think you’re real sweet, Joan. I mean it’s not exactly saying much considering the types we get in here, but you’re a lot nicer to look at for sure.”

Hughie wasn’t the only one to think so. The bold gazes found new courage in Frank’s absence, and more of them were suddenly very keen for a drink at the bar, and their generosity extended to the young woman that was already there. “Come on man, she’s minding her business, leave her alone.” His warnings and protests were silent to ears that considered rejection a challenge. Hughie was kind, and to those whose language was aggression and violence, his kindness was taken as harmless. Frank was not harmless, and his return was marked with a brusque, “fuck off Jerry,” as he grabbed a towel from under the bar and threw it over his shoulder: smoke break was over. “I’ll call a fucking cab next, I won’t ask again.” Hughie, visibly relaxed by Frank’s return, dipped his head to whisper something conspiratorial to Joan, a barely concealed laugh colouring his every word, “calling them a cab is Frank’s way of a threat.” Frank, who’d heard the hushed exchange, did not find it equally amusing. “Fuck off Hughie.” If you knew him just enough, which Hughie did, you could hear a ‘thanks’ in there.

There was something certainly satisfying about knowing that she could get a reaction out of the other bartender. Athena settled into a comfortable smile again, letting her hair fall over her shoulders as her fingertips tapped against the cider glass. “Try?” She said, tilting her head. She supposed it was comforting - to a degree - that her recon was easily dismissed as a childish crush. She wondered about Hughie - wondered if he felt secondary to the other man - the one who was, apparently stupidly good looking. “Maybe I am, who knows, really?” She let one finger tract the divots on the counter stop, making eye contact with Hughie as she did so. Though she had no interest of a romantic sort in either of the bartenders, a little extra attention to the one that was quite possibly ignored for favor of a fae who could trick and manipulate those around time couldn’t hurt. Besides, there was something incredibly endearing about him. Hard to hate unless you know what he is. She shrugged. “He seems real noble, huh? Besides, I’m not that young, but I understand your point. It’s all comparative, hmm?” Hughie turned back to her and he had a similar look on his face to many of the freshman boys who she sometimes saw around campus. “I think I might be terribly offended if you thought I wasn’t nicer to look at.”

She made a face at the other men who had decided that now was the time to return to the bar. Well, the rumors about this place certainly hadn’t been exaggerated. It was sweet that Hughie was doing his best to fend them off, though Athena had half a mind to turn around and deck one of them herself. Particularly that Jerry character. Turned out that she didn’t have to, given that she felt her skin crawl again before she saw him, and watched Jerry slink away, another laugh - though a bit more biting this time - escaped her lips. She turned to Hughie, running her tongue over her teeth and raising an eyebrow at his words. “Well, hey, at least it means the general public doesn’t have to deal with them.” Athena settled back, offering a shrug. “He’s just helping me, and since his name isn’t Jake I figured it’s safe, isn’t it?” She winked at Hughie before taking another sip of her cider. “You know cigarettes can kill you, right?” A repeated remark that she’d given to one of the patrons, earlier. This time however, there was a hint of amusement that would suggest a certain playfulness. Not that I’d mind, even if you have kept these creeps away. “Will you drink with me, at least?” Her gaze flickered over to Hughie. “Either of you.”

Hughie answered her with a pursed lip and a pensive expression. He didn’t just wear his heart on his sleeve, Hughie was all heart. He had enough heart in him to give to every pretty smile and every kind word he received, and he gifted them freely and in earnest. And he needn’t bribe anyone with promises of free drinks to convince them he was charming, he just was. Perhaps it was this charm or his naivety or a combination of both that had endeared him to Frank. With the knowledge of the world that existed beneath Hughie’s mundane one and the creatures that lived within it (creatures like him), the latter had warned him of his habit, though Hughie never took much notice of it. That was just Frank being Frank, he thought and Frank’s warning had been abandoned long before Joan smiled at him. “Noble is a strong word. I mean, the guy’s still an asshole.” He grinned, and did not mind saying it aloud considering how often he’d said it to Frank’s face. Frank just grunted, which means it must be true. And it was. “Don’t be. You look very nice.”

His hand operated entirely on its own accord as Frank made drinks that he’s done a hundred times before, for patrons he’s seen just as frequently. He was still technically on the clock, and Joan wasn’t the only one at the bar. Even as his hands worked, his mind was elsewhere, he spared a glance, and an ear, at the two as they laughed to themselves (“Ew—yeah, Jake is his own brand of asshole. Definitely do not get free drinks from him,” Hughie chimed). He recognised instantly that wretched hand of envy as she grabbed his inside and twisted it, giving rise to the ugly feeling. He envied their distance, the literal closeness as Hughie lent over the bar to reach her ear. He envied that they can joke and Hughie could be charming and pleasant and have his company be enjoyed and know with complete certainty that the reciprocated amiability was a result of him, because what else could it be? The simple, magnificent, connection between two people. Truth was, Frank was all heart too, he was just always too afraid to use it. For good reason. He answered her words with a raised brow, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth; this was not the first time he’s heard this. Judging by her tone, it was not the first time she’s said it. “It can try,” he said, and it was casual enough to be taken as a joke, though the downward turn of Hughie’s lips showed that only Frank thought it was funny. That was because Hughie didn’t know that cancers don’t kill Gancanaghs, though Frank certainly smoked enough to test that theory. “I don’t drink on the job.” Frank said, just as Hughie answered, “yeah, sure!” He turned to Frank, eyes silently begged for permission, and Frank hadn’t the heart to say no. Oh what the fuck. “You are paying for every fucking glass Hughie.” As if the kid had the tolerance to go for more than a couple of pints. “No one hears of this, or you’ll hear from me.”

“Eh, still seems noble to me.” Athena grinned. “I mean, I don’t think it’s best if I say anything about the second part, because he’s been nothing but more than civil to me.” She could comment, if she wished, about the fact that he wasn’t human, that his niceties could easily be a front to whoever he really was - but perhaps that was another discussion for another time. If she ever got Hughie alone, to poke and wonder just what he knew, though she knew that she’d have to be delicate in her questioning, given how entirely oblivious the vast majority of the town was. It meant she’d have to find some way to see him again that didn’t involve coming to a creepy bar that smelled far too much of tobacco. “Well, if you say so, I’ll acquiesce, I suppose I do look good and a compliment from you is better than the others out there.”

Athena kept her gaze trained halfway on Frank even as Hughie whispered in her ear. If he was one of the species that she figured he might be, she had half a mind to say that she was safe, that he couldn’t harm her. But instead she bit her lip, gaze torn between the two of them. “I’ve got no plans to get any drinks or talk with Jake, don’t you worry - but it is sweet of you to look out for me.” It was part of a game, because people usually based their opinions on how someone looked, and she knew that she didn’t exactly look tough. She let her grin turn open-mouthed, running her tongue along the bottoms of her teeth. “Well, it can, and I could tell you about the damage it does to your insides, but maybe that’s not proper bartop conversation, hmm?” Raising an eyebrow, she shrugged at Frank’s refusal to drink. She hadn’t expected either of them to agree, but she supposed that she ought to not have been very surprised when Hughie was jumping to agree. He reminded her a bit of a puppy dog, in a way that she did admittedly find a bit charming. Maybe the factor of comparison played a role, too - what with being compared with a literal fae and a much of thirty and forty-somethings who remained far too eager to steal glances at her, though a good number of them were at least somewhat ignoring her now that she was focused in on the two bartenders. Athena took another careful sip of her cider, the playful and somewhat coy grin from earlier returned. “What will you be drinking first, Hughie?” she giggled. “Will Frank at least talk with us? I know I can provide better and more enlightened conversation than, well…” she waved her hand behind her. “Them.” She let her lips form into a pout. “Please?” Even if batting her eyes proved mostly fruitless on the fae, it didn’t hurt. Provide him with the sense that she was anything but a threat.

Hughie’s smile was wide, positively brimming with a lightness that did not belong in Soul. He’d tangled himself in the vines of Joan’s apparent loveliness and seemed to be in no rush to get himself out. Such was the romanticism of youth. Frank looked at the world through the cracks of the rose coloured lens, and it warned him to keep his distance; so he does. Hughie was too trusting, incredibly so. His smile said that he would throw himself to the wolves to ‘look out’ for the young woman sitting next to him, and Frank knew that he would sooner be ripped to shreds before he got a chance to save anybody, and if Hughie knew what was good for him, he would already be on his way back into the kitchen. “Thanks doc but I know what it can do,” to most humans anyway. “Don’t mean I’m gonna stop doing it.” Hughie turned to Joan, a resigned look on his face, and simply shook his head, “don’t bother. I’ve already tried. Many, many, times.”

Before Hughie could give an order, a pint of beer had travelled the length of the bar and stopped at his hand. He took a tender sip at first—nobody came to Soul to sample their most favourite drinks and the beer that Frank handed (or more accurately, slid across the careful distance of 6 feet) to him was far from his, but it was pleasant enough that the sip became a mouthful. “House lager,” he said, and after another mouthful, added, “it’s alright.” Frank, who was not attached enough to anything, much less the drinks at his least favourite bar, was not offended enough to give a reaction and continued fussing over some glasses for some more drink orders. Joan Parrish was a picture that resembled everything exquisite and delightful about youth. She was all play, with her pout shaped mouth and batted lashes, and the glimmer of something more secret behind pretty blue eyes. It charmed both the Hughie’s and the Jerry’s of the world. It might have endeared itself to Frank too had he let it, but true to form, he remained distant and detached, and answered with a simple: “Hughie can keep you company. He loves to talk, the trick is to get him to shut up…” Hughie launched into his objection at Frank’s accusation, but the latter’s attention was already lost. He was looking past them and out toward the middle of the bar, where the root of a brawl was beginning to take shape in the form of loudly traded words that graduated into a shoving match. “Fuck me.” He muttered under his breath. Frank doesn’t miss a beat, and tossed the towel aside as he carved a path out into the storm. The first fist of the night was thrown, and it cracked across Frank’s jaw with enough force to knock his head to one side. In fairness, the target was not Frank but the man behind him whom the bartender had pulled out of the fist’s trajectory at the last possible moment. Hughie winced, but didn't move from his seat. This was not his first fight at Soul, or the first time he’s seen Frank take a punch. He calmly reached over the bar, found Frank’s phone (punched in his passcode) and dialed a number. “I guess I’ll be calling the cab then.”

“Well, can’t say I didn’t warn you then,” Athena shrugged. She held a certain sort of delight with how much Hughie was smiling. It was almost enough to distract from the fact that there was a fae in this bar who was helping her and who she couldn’t kill. Almost. “Well, it’s good he has someone like you.” She didn’t laugh this time, but instead let her smile do all the talking. It drew less attention she found, and that was for the best, at least here. She was good at keeping secrets, keeping herself toned down when need be, though she did prefer to be more the center of attention usually.

Either these two did truly know one another in a way similar to how Athena knew Amanda, or Frank was just good at guessing orders or wanted Hughie to shut up. She couldn’t quite pinpoint it, which was a bit of a source of frustration for her, but she had gotten better about dealing with her frustrations as she’d grown up. This wasn’t some chess game when she was little, when she’d get terribly annoyed every time her brother took too long choosing the next move when they were playing chess. How she’d once gone through nearly an entire box of colored pencils in kindergarten, snapping each one as she tried to color in a picture all while sensing that one of her classmates was fae, but when the feeling was still new and entirely consuming so much so that she couldn’t pinpoint it. Regardless, Hughie had his drink now and Athena didn’t drink beer, but she had half a mind to reach out and ask if she could try some. Perhaps she would, soon, but not yet. “The cider’s great, if you want to try that.” She replied instead, unable to help herself. “I don’t have any germs, I like to keep myself clean as possible.” She glanced back over to Frank, watched as he meticulously cleaned the glasses (though, Athena had to wonder, would the clientele here really care if one was a bit smudged with a questionably cloudy mark?). If this was to be counted as recon, and she had to count it that way - and learning any sort of habit was beneficial in the long run. “Well, I love to listen, so it works out just fine.” Except before she could do more listening of the man near her, she heard a fist collide with someone’s jaw and then Frank was moving over and apparently what Hughie had said was true, because he was trying to break the fight apart and Athena sat with quiet fascination, though outwardly she shifted her expression into one of concern. “I guess you will.” She said, turning back over to Hughie. Palms pressed against her thighs, she let her eyes grow wide. “Can I help you?” Tongue held between her teeth, she blinked just how she knew she was supposed to whenever something terrible was going on. “We can get drinks another time.” That much permitted a shift to a teasing smile. “I just - is Frank going to be okay?”

Frank doesn’t swing but sidestepped every throw hurled at him. For one as tall as he was he moved with remarkable grace, although it was probably very easy to look graceful when one knew what he was doing and the other two were flinging their fists around in desperate, drunken, Hail Mary attempts at hitting something…anything. To their credit some of those blind throws landed, others merely clipped him, though neither had enough force to do any real damage. Which was just as well. He has yet to have a conversation about broken bones that healed overnight that did not end terribly at worst, and very awkwardly at best. “Oh don’t worry he’ll be fine.” Or he was until one of those Hail Mary throws saw Frank’s cheek at the end of a fist. He stumbled, but recovered quickly enough before the second Hail Mary found him. “Yeah…He’ll be fine.” Said Hughie, more to himself now. “Walk it off Frankie! That’s a lad!”

It was a battle against time at this point; more energy was required to throw a punch than to avoid it, and they always tired themselves out in the end. It was a sort of dance they’d watched him do enough times that one would think they would eventually catch on. Alas, anger made for poor decision making and with intoxication at its right hand the outcome was a predictable one, although they always seemed very surprised when Frank outlasted them. And he always did. This time, he caught one by the scruff of his shirt, and the other by the arm (his hand on the sleeve of the other’s jacket), which Frank had pinned up against his back as he pushed them both forward toward the door. Moans and groans and a chorus of general dissatisfaction ushered them out; the fight was over though not many were very happy about that. Hughie who was watching the unravelling of the events very closely, Frank’s phone still held up to his ear, let out a breath of relief as he finished the last of his instructions into the receiver. “Yeah, for two people…separately. If that’s okay?…okay? Okay. Thank you.” Frank was already out of the bar at this point, he’d just caught a glimpse of him throwing the two (barely) fighters to separate ends of the curb as the door closed behind him. Hughie pocketed the phone and turned to Joan with an offer of a small apologetic smile. He’d wanted to impress her with a pleasant time, in a hopeful bid to get her to come back so he might see her again. He had liked her, and you don’t find girls like Joan Parrish in places like Soul on the Rocks. Although after what had just happened, he decided that it might just be as well. “I’m sorry, I have to go make sure he’s okay.” He had half a mind to tell Joan to stay put. The last thing Hughie wanted was to put her in the company of two men who, only moments ago, seemed bent on tearing each other, and Frank, apart—although the alternative to that option offered him little comfort. “Do you want to come with?”

Even Athena had to wince at the fight breaking out in front of her. She was used to training, used to fights designed for the purpose of bettering oneself and not for the purpose of trying to - well, she didn’t even know what the fight had started about. Only that it now involved two drunk men and a fae who she watched more carefully - that part held in certain fascination, watching his movements and the way he held himself. Just in case, she reminded herself. It was always important to understand how others worked - their bodies and minds. Particularly people like Frank. She glanced back over to Hughie, who seemed incredibly willing to cheer on his - friend? - Athena was not quite sure, but his eagerness continued to be fascinating to observe.

She bit her lip as the other men in the bar groaned as the two drunks were ushered out. This place really was something else, though Athena found that she did not entirely regret coming, if only because she had now discovered a fae who she had never found before. There was always the chance that she would have run into him elsewhere in town, but here she got the chance to be not herself and that permitted her a certain level of power. Though she very much doubted that he thought of her as vulnerable entirely (she could read his facial expressions well enough to know otherwise), he certainly had no idea what she was properly capable of, given an opportunity. She let her gaze shift back to Hughie. She almost felt bad for how much her lips turned to pouting around him, how much of a thrill she got out of his reactions - though at the same time she wasn’t entirely opposed to them either. She listened as he ordered cars for whoever was out there, drew designs in the water that had fallen from the condensation on her cider glass, both their drinks now long forgotten. “Don’t be sorry.” She let her gaze fall to him again, all softness and caring. Besides, she’d lost track of Frank as well - though she presumed he was outside with the drunks. “Yes. Yes, I would like that very much.” She hopped off of the stool and wrapped her jacket around herself. “That is, if you’ll have me, of course.”

Frank turned at the sound of the bar’s aged hinges groaning, a sharp word taking shape on the tip of his tongue, poised to command any over-zealous spectator that followed them out to take their sorry behind right back in. Alas the words never became more than a thought long forgotten as a mop brown-curly head emerged from the bar, a smaller blonde one following close behind. Frank’s surprise was not for Hughie, whom he’d already expected to come check on him, as he usually does, but was reserved for Joan Parrish. She was apparently not the little flower that shrank from a fight but rather a woman of firmer constitution that followed it out. Perhaps she was neither of these things, and was simply another over-eager spectator with the difference of a pretty face and a more expensive outfit. Although the way she regarded them, regarded him, Frank suspected that it was the former—either way, there was more to Joan Parrish than a pretty smile and a cute glass of cider, and he filed this little piece of information away. Maybe he would see her again, maybe he won’t, either way it didn’t hurt to know. Not that it made any great difference to Hughie of course, who perhaps did not realise the same caution Frank did, or he did and simply didn’t care. Even with Frank minding the two drunks, Hughie kept himself firmly fixed between them and her. “Your phone Frankie.” Hughie took a step forward, the phone in hand, but Frank stopped him and gestured to him to throw it over instead. Unknown to Hughie, he was edging much too close to Frank’s 6 feet, but he didn't question it (although the prospect of closing the distance between himself and the two violent drunks could have something to do with it) and did as he was asked. “And don’t call me Frankie.”

“Cab should be here soon,” Hughie casted an apprehensive eye on the two shadows that sat at opposite ends on the curb, Frank standing firmly between them. “You look…good.” You could practically hear the wince that seeped from Hughie’s face and into his words. The street lamp did him little favours on his split lip, and the dark purplish shadow that sat prominently against his cheekbone. Alas, Frank wasn’t looking at Hughie but rather past him, at the woman that had not said a word in this entire exchange. She didn’t look afraid but rather fascinated, and so was Frank. “Sorry about that ugliness back there.” He said. Hughie, as if realising that Joan was still behind him, a new development as far as Frank was concerned considering he hadn’t lifted his gaze from her since it found her, said rather sheepishly, “oh, yeah. I didn’t want her to be left alone with that lot back in there so I thought—” Frank didn’t give him the chance to explain, and went on as if he had not said anything at all. “Are you leaving too?”

She could feel Frank’s eyes on her, but it did little to bother her, to knock her off balance. Athena wasn’t so easily moved, even if he could practically see his mind working, as if trying to figure out who she was. Even if she never returned to Soul on The Rocks, she fully intended to run into him again, either purposefully or on accident. There was far too much that she was curious about, so much so that her curiosity seemed to have alleviated the chills under her skin. Which was something else she filed away - if she turned everything into work for the sake of curiosity whenever she could, then perhaps she could more easily work to stop feeling on edge every time she came near anything fae-related. She focused her attention back on the matter at hand, watching Hughie as he gave Frank back his phone, and she watched to see how much he would react to being so close. She had half a mind to try it a bit herself - and perhaps she would have, but the two now rather dejected but still fairly drunk men were not something she wanted to deal with.

She continued to watch the exchange between the two of them until she felt Frank’s eyes on her again. “I mean, I guess I should’ve expected that.” She shrugged, eyes growing just slightly plaintive. Athena realized then that perhaps Hughie had been a bit too focused on the phone return to notice her. Or remember that she was there, and she offered him a smile that said thank you for caring, or at least, she hoped that it did. “He was just trying to look out for me, I think.” Pursed lips and a shrug followed that. “I might be leaving.” She let her gaze focus back on Hughie. “Unless I was given reason to stay - but I think that given the experience with the patrons,” she looked back at the door, “given all that - you two have been real kind to me,” she forced a blush onto her cheeks as she looked between them, “maybe it’s best if I do go.” She pulled out her own phone. “Though,” she turned to face Hughie, “if you wanted to hang out without creeps hitting on me and without your boss having to break up bar fights, I’d be down.” She looked back over to Frank, “you should probably get some ice for that to reduce the swelling, though you took that better than I imagine most would’ve.”

“I’m not his boss.”

“He’s not my boss.”

Their words were said at the same time. Hughie, because he liked Frank too well to ever think to form an association between him and their actual boss. Frank, because—simply, he didn’t care to be anyone’s boss. His aversion to telling people what to do could be credited as a consequence of his supernatural abilities. It was also just as likely that it was just Frank being Frank, or maybe a combination of both. He watched as Hughie positively lit up at her invitation, his heart pumping a light dusting of pink to colour his cheek. “Yeah? I mean—yeah, yes! Of course!” He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans, and with visible effort to keep it from trembling, proceeded to put his number into her phone. “Christ…” Frank’s eyes turned heavenward, desperate to look at anything else that might spare him from further witnessing Hughie’s love-sick bumbling routine. He caught Joan’s eyes, and her remark prompted his hand to absently nurse the sore on his cheek. “I’ll live,” he said and tried not to think about the pain that was emanating beneath.

Sweet relief took the form of two cab cars as they pulled up against the curb, one after the other. Frank took the first of the drunks by the arm and stuffed him into the back of one cab, deposited some cash into the driver’s window and did the same for the second offender. He tapped his hand against the roof of the cab and the last car pulled away. Just like that, the night came to a sudden stillness and all seemed quiet once more. Alas, silence was a delicate glass and in the hands of drunken idiots, it could do little else but break. In the case of Soul on the Rocks, it quite literally shattered as the sound of glass breaking could be heard from inside the bar. A reminder to both Frank and Hughie that they were still on the clock. Dutifully and without a word, Frank stepped away from the curb and headed for the bar. For a brief moment, he met Joan’s eyes, and he didn’t falter but came to a deliberate halt in front (but still distanced) of her. “Don’t take this the wrong way Joan Parrish, but I really hope I don’t see you here again.” He said and ducked back into the bar, the door creaked open, bleeding sound into the night, and then closed behind him, and then quiet. This time it was Hughie who broke it, and he did so with a grin that he turned to Joan, “I think he likes you.”

#strong hand

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