Chapter One:

If you want to be a nobody, live in a city. If you want to be invisible, do what everyone else is doing. And if you want to be wallpaper, you better know when to stop drinking.

I'm a nobody; I live in Boston. I'm invisible; I talk shit, root for the Sox, and drive like an asshole. I never could get that 'wallpaper' thing down though. I mean, I'm at McGinty's right now throwin' them back like my liver can keep up or something.

"Heyy, another shot, ya?" I call out to the old man behind the bar.

"A wee bit early for ye to be drinkin' this much, i'nt lass?" He asks me, but fills my shot anyways. A double. What a good man.

"Nah, haa, this is the perfect time to be drinkin'." I smile at the kind old man and I think he smiled back.

"Fuck! Ass!" Or maybe not…

I can't say I've been the greatest person these past few years. I've stolen a few things, hung around some of the wrong people, and maybe consumed more illegal substances than I should have, but I'm done with most of that. Suddenly gaining consciousness, what other people often call 'waking up', in a filthy side alley between two dilapidated buildings in the North End of Boston more or less "enlightened" me to live a "better life". I can't live that way anymore, which is why I still don't understand why I'm in another grimy pub taking more shots than I can handle.

Too much alcohol is rather unbecoming of a young woman such as myself. I caught a glimpse in a mirror a couple minutes ago, I think, in a bathroom. Did I go to the bathroom? And it was not a pretty sight. I'm really sure I was wearing two earrings too…

CRASH! I look up at this abrasive sound. What the hell was that! I loll my head to the side to survey the destruction; sounded like a fucking bomb or some shit.

Two men in matching dark coats, jeans, and sunglasses barge through the door. I was close…

"'ey, Doc! How 'bout some beers!" One of the men bellows out.

"Murphy! Connor! Where ye b-been, boys?" Seriously, now the bartender is in on this screaming match!

"Eh, you know, workin' all de time." Answered one of the men.

"An' tryn'a find someone." Answered the other.

They both sat down at the bar, the one with lighter hair directly across from me, the other just to his right. I put my cheek against the coolness of the bar. Damn that felt good. It was sweltering in here, or was that just me?

I look the two men over behind the shield of my hair. It'd be embarrassing if they saw me openly looking at them, this way they won't know I'm watching.

"Doc, what's wit de girl?" Asked the light haired one.

"Aye, Connor, dat be Fi, been in 'ere de last t'ree o' four days."

"Fi?" Asked the other, Murphy, I reason. My deductive skills are so damn good.

"Ye, came in Tuesday I t-t'ink. Let 'er stay in de room upstairs last night. Seems in a bit o'va rough spot."

"She give a last name t' ya?" Asked Connor. He pointed over to me though his eyes stayed on Doc. I get the feeling they're talking about me over there.

"No, n-n-no last name."

"Looks like our lass, Conn." Said Murphy and tapped his companion's shoulder in celebration.

"Well, Murph, le's find out." Through my mess of hair I saw him approach my side of the bar. I should probably lift my head off this counter; he'll be here any second. Bad impressions don't make good friends.

"Hey beautiful, what ye drinkin' tonight?" I felt a cold, rough hand on my back. Connor sat next to me, looks at me all sober-like. I lift my head off the bar, hair a mess; everywhere.

I look up at him, squint. What a good looking man. I want to touch his face.

"H-hey, why are you wearing sunglasses?" My hand is on his cheek.

"S'only four, love." He smiles at me. No, I think he's laughing at me.

"No!" I'm an indignant retard when sober. I wave for another shot but Doc is over there talking to that other guy, Murphy.

"Yes, s'true!' He tells me.

"Why're you wearin' a coat, it's fuckin' hot in here." He's holding my hand, touching my ring. What a nice man.

"'Cause it's November, an' jus' started ta snow."

"No! Really? Already? Where have I been!" I give him a peculiar look, I'm sure.

"Looks like ye been 'ere fer a while, lass. What's yer name, darlin'?" He looks down at my ring again. I guess he likes it.

"The name's Fi." I extended my hand for him to shake.

"Pleasure ta meet ye, Fi Luccio. I'm Connor MacManus." He takes my hand and shakes it, his hand nearly twice the size of my own. "Me twin brother Murphy is over talkin' with Doc." He adds, and nods over to his brother at the other end of the bar. He's laughing about something, likely another patchwork proverb of Doc's by the way the old man's face is twinged with a look of frustration.

"Ye know, Fi, it's a bit strange but…I've been lookin' fer ye. Murphy 'nd I have, fer a while now." He's looking at me, straight in the eyes, and the honesty in them scares me more than my prospective hangover.

"Y-you've been lookin' for me? No! Who needs to be lookin' for me. I ain't done nothing, or anything, or, what-whatever. I've done nothin' worth anyth-thing." I need a fucking drink. Anything to make these walls stop spinning.

"Honest! An' ye've done plen'y. We know a lot 'bout ye, Fi, more'n ye might t'ink."

"Are you a good man, Co-Connor MacManus?"

"I'd certainly like ta t'ink so."

"Then can you, can you bring me home? Do you know where my earring is?" I'm smiling at him. Or at least that's what I willed my brain to make my face do. I can't actually feel much right now.

"Hahaaa, punch me!"

"What?" He can't withhold an incredulous look.

"Do it! I won't—won't even feel it!" He shakes his head and laughs.

"Murph! We're goin' home a bit early tonight. Looks like we've got a guest." With that said I started flying. I think I was flying. My feet weren't on the ground and I was moving.

"Damn, lass, yer goin' to be feelin' dis tomorrah mornin'!" I look up and see his face, still laughing at me, I can see it in the corner of his eyes. He's carrying me, bringing me home. He doesn't know where I live. I almost want to cry.

"Don' cry, lass. We be gettin' ye ta bed soon." Murphy is peering down at me as we venture out into the brisk November evening. I reach for Murphy's hand; an awkward angle as I'm being cradled like a baby. I'm not even drunk yet, what do these guys even know? You can't have hangovers in the morning if you're not even drunk!

"What is it, Fi?" Murphy asks me. I look at him with what I think are endearing, tear-free eyes.

"D-do you, do you have my earring?"

A/N: Umm, ya, well, clearly not much has happened in this here first chapter…but I have ideas. :] It's all just a matter of writing them down and actually posting them. Haaa, we'll see if that ever happens. So yes, this is a WIP if I can ever bring myself to write more. I'll try though! It's a personal goal of mine to write more than a one-shot.

I've mentioned in my profile I'm not much of a writer…at all. So reviews are welcome with anything you'd like to bring to my attention. And I probably failed at writing the Irish accent—I tried though. Do I get an A for effort? :]