John

The Mill was quiet, a rare occurrence on a Friday night. An unfortunate occurrence, as well. John rubbed his temples, elbows leaning against his desk. It was summer, at least one stage at The Mill should be booked every night. He hoped tonight was a one-off situation; at least he had a good lineup for tomorrow and through the next few weeks. Competition was fierce among the venues, bands were skipping Atlanta on their tours, ticket prices were going up while people's budgets were going down. He didn't like the trends he was seeing.

After leaving the Hale's, he'd thrown himself into his work for the rest of the evening. Now the sun was setting, and he'd made little progress trying to book bands for the fall. At least had the forethought to pick up some Chick-Fil-A on the way home. He smiled, remembering something his father used to say: "When you've had a shitty day, you need some fucking Chick-Fil-A." That was the kind of man he was, the kind that let his children stay at The Mill to listen to questionable bands and who wasn't averse to cursing in front of them. Looking back, John wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

With a weary sigh, he pushed away from his desk and walked from his office into the hall. It was still muggy outside, making him glad once again that he'd driven the short distance from his house to The Mill. He didn't technically have to be at The Mill at all, since no one else was there and he had an office at home. But something about being on site motivated him, away from the distractions at home of his mother and sister.

Mrs. Thornton had left him a plate in the kitchen when he got home, figuring he would be at work late and be hungry when he was finally finished. As with most things, she was right. He scarfed down the home cooked meal in just a few minutes, then grabbed a beer from the fridge before heading up the stairs to his music room. Music was what he needed after the odd and distressing day he'd had. Music made everything better.

He flipped through his vinyl collection, searching for just the right record to help him relax and clear his mind for a little while. He finally decided on one, a classic, one of his father's favorites, and he popped it on the player and slid his headphones on.

When John was a little boy, he'd sit on the floor in the music room with his father, close his eyes, and listen to his dad sing along with the lyrics. Now, some 20 years later, he still preferred to sit on the floor next to the big chair that still smelled of his father's pipe tobacco. Of course, he couldn't do that when he had colleagues around, and was usually embarrassed to do it when his family was with him. But when he was alone, and the rest of the house was tucked into their own corners for the night, he still slid to the floor, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back, breathing in the familiar scent of his father.

That's where his mother often found him in the morning, long after the record had played itself out. This morning was no different; she knew it had been a rough day whenever it happened. So, she'd creep back out, not wanting to disturb or embarrass her strong young man. And today, like most mornings, he stayed asleep, memories of his father singing mingling with images of a girl with fierce eyes and a sharp tongue.

Maggie

This Sunday brunch wasn't the kind that Maggie was used to back home. Of course, she'd heard of chicken and waffles, but always assumed it was a strange novelty and not something people actually ate. And she was slightly suspicious of the contents of the gravy that was smothering her biscuit.

"We thought we'd ease you in real slow" Nick was saying, "start out with something fairly normal before shockin' your system with the truly weird stuff." If this was normal to them, she was afraid to find out what they considered weird.

Becca was showering her gravy with pepper. "I was jonesing for some Waffle House, but Nick said that might be too much for you yet," she smiled and took an enormous bite of her gravy slathered biscuit, waving her fork at Maggie as she continued, "besides, Waffle House would ruin you for any other breakfast food. I guess we should save the best for last."

So far Maggie had managed to avoid anything inherently "southern", as far as food went, at least. In her short time in Georgia, she'd mainly eaten at her parents house, had some take out Mexican, and tried this one hipster looking wrap cafe. She had a sudden longing for a real New England breakfast as she looked at the pile of slop on her plate.

Nick and Becca were grinning at each other as Maggie stared anxiously at the food in front of her. "Well, go on then, try it," Nick nudged her. She cautiously cut off a bit of biscuit that wasn't completely saturated with gravy and put it in her mouth.

Hmm, she thought, as she munched on the creamy yet peppery biscuit. "Hmmmmm," she mumbled, swallowing. "That wasn't what I expected. Really, not bad at all." With that, she attacked her plate with renewed vigor, and the siblings knew they had won that battle against the north.

"I still can't believe that your dad is teaching Thornton piano," Nick said later, as they sat in a park, sipping iced coffee, watching a group of kids play ultimate frisbee. "What a crazy coincidence."

Becca coughed, and Nick shot her a look. "What?" She cried. "You know I don't believe in coincidences. It's fate, the universe is telling you something."

Rolling her eyes, Maggie took a long sip of her coffee. "Yeah? Telling me what, not to hang around with tall handsome men who can handle a gun like they were born with one in their hand?"

"Oh, so you do think he's handsome. I knew it!" Becca grinned, ignoring the rest of her comment.

Nick wouldn't let that slide past, though. "Then you shouldn't hang around me, I suppose, if you have a problem with guns."

Surprised, Maggie glanced over at him. "You know how to shoot a gun?" She asked

"Not just that," he patted his side, "never leave home without it. Unless I'm drinking of course. That's why I prefer to drink at home."

Becca stood up suddenly and whirled around to face them. "Enough of this. I don't like talking about such controversial things on such a gorgeous Sunday morning." She was right, it was shaping up to be a beautiful day. It had stormed overnight, clearing the pollen from the air and helping relieve the humidity. The sky was shining blue with picture perfect fluffy white clouds. Becca started walking down the path, so Maggie and Nick shrugged and followed after her.

As they crested a hill in the park, Becca stopped and told Maggie to look behind her. Maggie turned, the view taking her breath away. The skyline was glittering in the sunlight, nestled in a forest of unbelievably green trees. "This is what it's all about, Maggie," Becca said, a small smile on her face. "The calm in the storm, the city in a forest. It's our home. Isn't it beautiful?"

Maggie certainly couldn't argue with that. Maybe she could carve out a life for herself here, after all.

John

Mr. Hale looked right at home among the musicians, producers, and venue owners that had gathered together for a drink at the Thornton's home. John was pleased with his spur of the moment decision to invite him, thinking it could help generate more students for the retiree. He hadn't expected Hale to have such an informed and reasonable view of the music industry as a whole, and to provide such an interesting perspective on their current problems.

"Did I tell you, Thornton, that I've decided to switch over to TicketMaster for managing our sales?" Watson, the owner of The Temple, was saying as they sat in the music room, sipping on scotch and chatting.

Most of the men in the room knew John's opinion on this matter. "You know I prefer to handle my own ticket sales in house, Watson," he said, for Mr. Hales benefit.

Slickson snorted. "Just think of all the time you could save, Thornton. And in the long run, won't it be better for profits? Time is money, after all. Maybe you could spend more of it booking shows for The Mill, instead." Slickson was a prominent producer and promoter, so he knew well the problems the owners had been facing.

"What happens when the ticket sites keep raising fees? When bands can't sell tickets because their fans can't afford them? When fans refuse to buy tickets because of the outrageous fees? As if it isn't hard enough to attract artists to the city already." John shook his head, "No, it may be more work for me now, but I'll keep my ticket prices firmly within my own control. There would be no profits at all if no one can afford to go to a show."

Mr. Hale cleared his throat, "Surely it's better for everyone if ticket prices and fees are lower, since it will allow better access to the enjoyment of music, for those who would miss out otherwise?"

Some of the men snickered at what they perceived as naivety, but John was secretly pleased; it was a refreshing change from the cynical outlooks of the other men in the room. "While true, Mr. Hale," he said, "I cannot choose my business practices based on what is best for the lower classes, not when I have my own family and staff to worry about." He shrugged, "As you can see, we are all businessmen first and music lovers second, and very few of us are altruists. The money comes before the music, unfortunately."

Hamper raised his glass, "I'll drink to that!" he said as he downed the last dram of his scotch. "Now let me see your record collection, Thornton, we've got this British band coming to The Loft and I wanted to give them a listen." No one was surprised when John was able to find the record easily, considering his extensive and well-organized collection. The rest of the group finished their drinks and settled in to listen to a few tracks before taking their leave.

Maggie

"Maggie! Come look!" her mother called from the front room. She had been watching out the window, anxious for the arrival of Mrs. Thornton and her daughter, Faith. Mr. had told Maggie and her mother that the Thornton women would be coming by today for Faith's "trial lesson". Maggie could only guess what that even meant. Either you want to learn piano, or you don't. She had a feeling the poor girl didn't, and was just coming to please her overbearing brother. But she had promised her father that she would put in an effort, so she would smile and make nice.

As Maggie rushed towards the window to see what her mom was talking about, she nearly tripped on the rug in the hall. Finally, she made it to the front room and peeked out the window, just in time to see the spectacle in front of her parent's home. An older woman, whom she could only assume was Mrs. Thornton, was standing on the curb, tugging on a young blonde lady, pulling her from the seat of the ridiculously stylish car. The girl was wearing shorts so short they could hardly be described as shorts at all, and a cropped top that revealed a tanned, flat stomach. As Mrs. Thornton yanked her out of the car, the younger woman was dangerously close to giving the Hales and their neighbors an X-rated show.

Mrs. Hale looked scandalized. "Goodness, what an interesting…" she struggled to find the word to politely describe her lack of dress.

Giggling, Maggie ducked from the window. "I hope she doesn't freeze in here with how low you've been keeping the air conditioner!" She laughed while her father went to answer the doorbell.

After an awkward introduction, Maggie, her mom, and Mrs. Thornton made small talk while Faith went into the music room with Mr. Hale. It was a short 30-minute lesson, after which Faith waltzed into the front room and flopped onto the far side of the couch. "Okay, mama, I gave it a try. I told you I wasn't interested," She said with a sigh. "I'd rather work on my tan, not to mention my butt. Plus, sunlight and exercise are better than being cooped up in a stuffy music room like John always is." She looked around, the glanced at Maggie. "I guess you aren't into fitness, are you? I didn't even see any free weights laying around, and you're definitely not into tanning." This was said with a long look at Maggie's pale skin.

Maggie gave a small laugh. "No, it's a bit harder to maintain a healthy glow in Boston than it is down here, I imagine. I prefer to hike and explore outside, rather than work out in a gym, to be honest." Not that she had much time for either activity, lately.

At the mention of Maggie's previous residence, Faith perked up. "Boston, hm? I've always wanted to go there."

"Well, it's not too bad of a plane ride, and not so expensive either. I've made the trip several times when mom and dad were moving down here." Maggie personally preferred to travel by plane and enjoyed the short trip from Boston to Atlanta.

Faith sighed. "Mama doesn't want to go and doesn't understand why I want to leave here to spend time with a bunch of stuck up yank- oh! Pardon me, of course y'all are an exception." This last part was added after a sharp look from Mrs. Thornton.

Stuck up yankees, huh? Well, we'll show her, Maggie thought. "Either way, I'm sure there are plenty of things to do around here that are just as fun."

"Oh yes," Faith smiled a little. "There are the concerts, of course, though they get boring after a while. Football games are always a hoot, unless we lose. We also have Six Flags! Though mama doesn't like for us to go, she doesn't think it's safe. I actually haven't been in years," she said with a pout.

Mrs. Thornton stood up. "Alright, Faith, enough with your drama. Mrs. Hale," she said, turning her attention. "I appreciate your hospitality. We would be happy to return the kindness soon. And Mr. Hale, I'm afraid there is no hope for our Faith. While I'm sure John enjoys his lessons very much, I don't believe Faith can be persuaded to continue in the same manner. Pity, really, since the arts are much more suited for a young lady than an important businessman. Too bad their dispositions aren't opposite in that regard. But again, we do appreciate your effort." With that, she bade them goodbye, Faith following behind as they walked out to their car.