Liam's is one of those places where you actually feel like you're alive. It's full of characters; a throwback to the days when the great and the good would mix in the pub, shoulder to shoulder with everyone else. You could easily imagine Alec Guinness walking in at any minute, or Steve McQueen the very next. It still feels like the Soho of the 50's paired with the rowdy old days of old world Dublin. It's a pub for people who understand the culture that goes with drinking. At Liam's, gazing out the window is never classed as doing nothing... It simply sums up its appeal. It's the perfect place to while away an afternoon or wash away the week.

You never know who you'll find in there. You're as likely to see the entire brass section of the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra running across the road for a swift pint as you are a room full of drunken retired policemen. Or a handful of conceptual artists arguing passionately about literally nothing, as you are the Gay Classic Car Society, the Massachusetts Historical Society, a handful of Street performers or some very drunk musicians. It boasts 250 kinds of whisky, a very well-kept cellar and, blissfully, no jukebox. The staff are warm and friendly and not in a production-line way, in fact they all appear to be friends with the regulars (who are easily recognizBle as the majority of the patrons). Maureen, who runs the place, is a sharp-witted, elegant and glamorous Northern Ireland angel, the kind Dylan Thomas would find a whole book in. It's a change nothing, lovely old pub.

The creamy globes of the old world lighting hanging from the rafters above cast a soft glow on the giant room while chatter of the patrons fills it with life. A small little band in the corner plucks away while the thick lilt of their singer wraps the room in the joys and sorrows of the old world tunes. From a large high top u-shaped corner booth, tucked neatly into the back of the pub, Mary Margaret and Ruby could see just about everyone and everything going on within its polished mahogany paneled walls. The laughter and smiles, the tense discussions... Even the busty red headed waitress who continued to 'absently' brush herself against the older male patrons she assumed could support her expensive tastes. Truth was, their focus wasn't really on anything but the door as they sat in wait, coiled like tensioned springs, for one dark haired blue eyed Irishman and one lovely blonde with serious commitment issues.

As if willing it to happen, the heavy wooden Victorian door to the pub swung open, allowing entrance for one Emma Swan. She breezed in, surveyed the room and immediately spotted her gaggle of friends in the booth at the rear. Picking her way through the crowded room garnered her with an assortment of compliments and cat calls - all of which she chose to ignore. Though her smile was light hearted, her mood was a bit obtuse... She'd really rather be curled up on her sofa with piece of pizza right now.

"Emma!... Hi!... You made it!" Mary Margaret climbed down from the elevated booth seat to give her friend a hug. From the widening of her pupils and the rush of her speech, Emma was certain she was already close to her limit on the alcohol. Light weight that she was, David would surely be nursing his beloved's hang over the next morning. Luckily, she would have a full weekend to recover.

Squeezing her long time friend and roommate into a quick hug, Emma regarded the others at the table with a pleasantness she really had to work at. She truly had no desire to be anywhere but home tonight, but for her friends - and her refusal to break their tradition of Friday nights together - she had dressed up (well, her version of dressed up) and plastered on her best grin. Just relax, will you Swan? Give it a chance.

Hopping up onto the high stool next to Victor, Emma surveyed the drinks spread out across the table. "Just how long have you four been here? From the looks of it, I'd guess... All day?" There were half drained bottles and still chilled stout glasses, low-balls still swishy with melting ice and empty shout glasses.

Victor laughed hardily as he wrapped a well toned arm around his girlfriend's roommate. "You'd be amazed at how much a few people can consume in the course of a two hour wait." He winked at her, squeezing her shoulder before letting go.

"Better start in on getting caught up, Ems... It won't be half as fun if you're the only sober one here!" Ruby's words were already starting to slur from what Emma guessed was the on-slot of too much liquor and not enough food.

Emma scowled, she needed a drink. And the whole lot of them needed some food. Slipping down off her stool, Emma addressed the table, "I'll be right back. You four drunkards stay put." David's wild hoot of laughter at her not-really-funny comment brought a genuine smile to her face. So rare an occasion was it that she saw her friends in this manner - relaxed, carefree and giddy from the effects of good company, great atmosphere and too much booze.

She turned from the group and headed towards the bar at the front of the room instead of flagging down one of the waitresses who were obviously overwhelmed with the busy bustle of the pub's crowd. Again, she ignored the compliments and cat calls (assumably from the same old drunks) as she pushed her way through the throng and angled herself into a small wedge of space at the bar top, signaling for the attention of one of the bartenders. After a few moments, she was greeted by a white haired older gentleman with a thick Northern Irish accent and bulbous red nose. He was a jolly soul with hazel laughing eyes who expertly took her order, poured her drink and relayed her food wishes to the runner.

"Wait here lass, I'll start your tab."

Emma nodded, handed the man her credit card and leaned a bit heavier into the sturdy white marble bar top. It was cool and smooth and nerve calming. Glancing around, she took in the little details of the pub. It was really warm and cozy and very personal. It was well loved and cared for. It was friendly and she liked it. Okay, maybe tonight wouldn't be terrible.

-CS-

Killian glanced down at his classic yet understated Rolex; it was nearly half past eight and he suspected that, just like every other Friday night, his favorite pub was already into a full swing of high spirited debauchery. As he pulled open the heavy wooden door, laughter tumbled out onto the sidewalk and filled the still night air with mirth. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as the stresses of his week slowly eased and slipped away. The mergers and semi-hostile take-overs would all still be there in the morning, tonight was for letting go and opening up to the possibilities of fresh starts.

Stepping into Liam's was like coming home. Not because he had a propensity towards liquid of the alcoholic persuasion, but for the way the familiarity of the setting and the patrons wrapped around him like an intangible hug. He felt as though his sweet beloved Ireland was still just outside the door, on the other side of the big lead glass windows. He nodded a friendly hello to some of the regulars as he allowed his bright blue eyes to survey the room in search of either one soul snatching blonde or her chirping birds brood of friends, the latter of which he found first. As he raised his arm to wave, the petite pixie-haired brunette of the group stood on the foot rung of the booth and waved her arms wildly, signaling towards the bar and a small space just to his right occupied by what he was now assuming was his soul snatching blonde. He again nodded - though this time, in their direction - and turned to admire the women who had brought him here for the evening (though she was entirely unaware of her involvement).

She was average in height and lithe of build; well-worn skinny jeans hugged delectably over the curve of her hips and rear before encasing her powerful legs and dipping into the tops of her neutral heeled riding boots. The wide neckline of her tastefully oversized scarlet sweater fell easily off her shoulder revealing smooth creamy skin and the tantalizing curve of her neck. A long column of soft golden waves mirrored her spine in a race down her back as her restless, elegant fingers strummed absently at the marble bar top. Even from his current viewpoint, Killian was convinced that his LostAndLonging was even more beautiful in person the any of her photos could ever truly capture. She had a presence to her, though he suspected she was not even minorly aware of it. In short - she was stunning, and hadn't even chanced a gaze upon her face yet.

Now or never, Jones. Now or never. He moved forward from where he stood near the bar, coming up dangerously close behind her. Killian knew he could play the situation two ways - passive or slightly aggressive. One would likely foster her maternal instincts and possibly bring him pity. But the other - oh the other - if played properly, could have devastating effects on his heart and his wallet. He hadn't even had the opportunity to say hello yet already in his mind he was lavishing this goddess of golden hair with her every whim and desire. At the last minute he decided to chance it and moved effortlessly into her space, placing his hands against the bartop next to hers and rather effectively trapping her there within the circle of his body.

Emma had been oblivious to his presence until the warmth of his body began to radiate up her torso and down her limbs. She stiffened and turned her head slightly to get a better look at her space invader. Her breath hitched and settled deep in her chest. Oh. My. God.