People asked for it, so here's another chapter. I've decided to turn this into a triple chapter story. Enjoy
Also, just as a note: People who come from abusive childhoods tend to be able to read facial expressions better than others, and those who have never experienced true affection don't recognize it when they are receiving it.
Luck o' the Irish
1997- March 17th
Have you ever eaten out of a dumpster? No? Well its not nearly as bad as most people think it is. Especially if you know where to look. Summer of course has the best pickings, especially at the farmers market dumpsters. Peaches, berries, zucchini, tomatoes, beans, and even watermelons. The fall and early winter yielded squash, broccoli, dates, kale, and even apples. It's amazing what people throw out because of a black spot or thumb print. During the late winter and spring the market dumpsters were sparse, so the back alleys of bakeries and supermarkets were where Toki found most of his food.
Granted, in his travels, Toki had spent a few nights here and there at shelters or youth hostels. Places that exchanged minor labor for food and a bed. Some of which were quite comfortable and would probably be nice to stay at for more than a week. However, there was one thing that kept Toki Wartooth moving.
His father.
If he was in any one place for more than a few nights the anxiety and nightmares would begin to claw at him. Nightmares of being shackled to the wall of the tool shed. Nightmares of being whipped and starved. Nightmares of being dragged back into the cold darkness that was that unforgiving, mountain house.
By this point Toki knew that it was absurd to think that his father would track him as far as Ireland. Even if he used all his connections in the clergy to assist in the hunt, Toki hadn't held any on-the-books jobs, owned any credit cards, or had his name on any leases or official statements of any kind. To think that his father was even still looking for him was absurd, but his nightmares didn't know that.
Toki was sick of waking up in a cold sweat, but he was sick of running even more. He craved a stable roof over his head, more clothes than could fit in a backpack, people around him who knew his name, access to a shower, and even something as simple as a bed.
Sighing, Toki leaned back into the weather beaten, cracked leather of the ferry bench and yawned. At his side was an extremely haggard black backpack, stuffed with a few changes of clothes, a toothbrush, a pocket knife, and a well loved brown teddy bear. Leaning against his leg -its shoulder strap wrapped around his ankle- was an extremely worn Flying V Gibson guitar.
He'd acquired it almost 6 years ago.
He was doing some labor at a small music shop in Halmstad, moving boxes, stocking shelves, and whatnot. After finishing his work for the day he walked into the back room to take a breather. Leaning against an amp to one side of the room was a guitar, plugged in and waiting to be played. Checking to see that nobody was in the room he walked over cautiously and picked up the instrument. It was lighter than it looked and almost felt right in his hands. Checking again that he was alone he slung the shoulder strap over his head and began to strum at the stiff metallic strings. When the notes hit his ears he paused. Toki had never played an instrument before, he was never allowed to. Glancing around to make sure no one had heard him he moved his finger to a new set of strings and strummed again.
Moments later he was moving his fingers faster and playing a tune that was unrecognizable, but a tune none the less. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips for the first time in a long while as he closed his eyes and continued to play. For a moment he forgot what he was running from, from what made him leave home or where he would go next. It was only the music. It was something he could control. It was freedom.
When he heard a small rustle behind him, he froze. Preparing himself for a yelling or worse, he pulled the guitar strap over his head and set it aside before turning around to face the store owner. Toki wondered how long he had been standing there.
"Sorry." Toki said in Swedish.
Arms crossed the store owner leaned against the door frame, saying nothing for a long moment. Taking the silence as a hint, Toki made to leave.
"Where'd you learn to play?" The shop owner asked.
Toki looked up to the older man, surprised. "Um...I...never."
His eyebrows perked up. "That was the first time you've played?" Toki nodded. Rubbing his bristly chin the shop owner seemed to consider something for a moment before telling Toki to "stay there for a minute." Vacating to an adjacent room he returned a moment later with a slightly worn, black and white, Flying V Gibson. "Its all scuffed up on one side from shipping so I can't sell it. If you want to do a little more work around the place, I'll let you have it."
That was the second time someone had given him something that changed his life. The first being when Boris provided him with supplies and loaded him into a box van, giving him his freedom. Well... as free as one can be whilst being chased by ghosts.
The overhead ferry speakers blared a metallic voice, pulling Toki out of his doze. As he rubbed his stiff neck the voice spoke. "We will be docking in five minutes. All passengers traveling by vehicle please return to your cars on the lower deck. All pedestrian passengers report to the front of the boat for exit. Happy St. Patrick's Day, have a fun and safe holiday."
Standing up the Norwegian stretched, his spine popping in select sore places before he hoisted his backpack up and slung his guitar over his shoulder. If the small tryout he had lined up yielded any fruit, maybe he would get a steady music job and earn enough money to put a deposit on an apartment and stop running, or at least a decent meal.
As he looked over the bow of the boat to the Belfast port, Toki hoped that the luck o' the Irish would be with him.
"Rumors of last weeks cafe' bombing in Listburn being the act of the IRA have been disproved. Officials investigating the case believe it to be a separate group or individual who is attempting to copy-cat the methods of the IRA to throw off the investigation. The police warn individuals to be observant and cautious this holiday season and if you see any suspicious activity to con-"
The feminine voice on the radio was cut off as Wren, the vocalist of Fuckface Academy, glared down at the blonde Swede who was suppose to be at band practice an hour ago. Skwisgaar was lounging back in the black leather couch of their tour bus, shiny Gibson Explorer across his narrow waist. He strummed it idly, pretending his band mate wasn't burning a hole in his forehead. "Why weren't you at band practice Skwisgaar?" He asked in an annoyed Irish accent.
"I am no needings to practice." Skwisgaar responded in his own poor English.
The vocalist's brow furrowed in frustration. "That doesn't matter! The rest of us need to get our timing down. The fact that you think you're Gods gift to music doesn't matter on stage if the rest of us aren't seamless with it! We're heading to New York next week and I for one don't want to be booed off the stage!" He said waving the cruise tickets to The Hamptons in Skwisgaars face.
"Ja." Skwisgaar said, not looking up from his guitar. "Den perhapks I should be finding band dat can keeps up." Even though he wasn't looking at his band mate, he could feel the anger radiating from him. Instead of venting and possibly breaking Skwisgaars nose, Wren threw the tickets down on the table and stormed out of the room, slamming the door.
Skwisgaar looked at the tickets on the table and huffed. He really didn't want to be stuck on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic with those dildos.
Fuckface Academy was a good band, but it didn't hold the challenge he craved or the mass media outlets he desired. Skwisgaar wanted to be a legend. Skwisgaar wanted to be a Metal God. This band just wasn't going to do it for him. It was a drug that had long since lost its high.
Sighing to himself he grabbed the tickets and put them in his wallet so at least they wouldn't get lost. Swinging his Gibson over his back the blonde exited the bus. Perhaps a local pub would provide some sorely needed excitement, a stiff drink, and maybe even a good fuck if Lady Luck was on his side.
The audition was a wash. Toki was supposed to tryout for a small band in Dublin tomorrow, but when he called from the port to confirm the band was not only shitfaced already, but they had found someone else. Luck of the Irish eh?
Sitting at a small pub the Norwegian sipped on a cheap beer. If there was a time to have a drink and wallow in self pity, now would be it. There was some Celtic music playing overhead, a song Toki recognized as The Blood of Cuchulain. An upbeat melody without words that reminded him of a song that would play when a loved one was coming home. He couldn't quite place why.
When the song came to an end a rotund man approached the small stages spotlight and waved his hands high to get peoples attention. "And now put your hands together and welcome our own Tiffany to the stage." Some light clapping came from the few that heard the man over their own celebrations as Toki turned towards the spotlight.
A young woman with auburn hair and bright green eyes approached the stage. She was wearing a brown skirt and an emerald green button up shirt, accenting her figure. Placing her mouth to the microphone she said "This one is for my brother." The boisterous roar of the crowd quieted down a little and went totally silent when she began to sing. "Clap along if you do feel so inclined."
"It seems like only yesterday I left the port from Cork
and on the ship from Erin's Isle I landed in New York
Not a devil a soul to greet me there
just strangers on the shore
But me fortune smiled upon me and the riches came galore
So now the times go back again to dear old Erin's Isle
Me friends will greet me on the pier and meet me with a smile
There'll be thousands that I've surely forgot
I've been so long away
and me mother will introduce them all and this to me she'll say
Shake hands with your Uncle Mike me boy
and here's your sister Kate
and there's the girl you used to swing down by the garden gate
shake hands with all your neighbors
kiss the Coleen's all
You're as welcome as the flowers in may in dear ol Donny Gaul
Oh there came a party when I'd come home
and they come from near and far
And they line the roads for miles and miles with Irish Johnson cars
and the whiskey flew like buttermilk
fill your heart with joy
And the piper will play an Irish tune to greet the Yankee boy."
The audience was clapping along to the beat at this point.
"So dance and sing the whole night long
such joy you've never seen
The boy's will be decked in corduroy, the girls be wearing green
shake hands with all your neighbors
kiss the Coleen's all
You're as welcome as the flowers in may in dear ol Donny Gaul
Then came Ranniga, Flannigan, Milligan, Gilligan, Duffy, McCuffy, Malarkey, Malone.
Raffady, Daffidy, Donnel, O' Connel, Tooley, O'Holey, Calarney, Calone.
Colonohan, Hoolahan, Ranahan, Flanahan, Fegan, O'Hagen, O'Hoolagan, Flyn
Kelly, O'Kelley, McGuinnis, McGin!"
A roar of applause and whistles rose and fell after the verse.
"And I shook the hand of me Uncle Mike
and the hand of me sister Kate
And I'll kiss and I'll squeeze as much as I please the girl by the garden gate
And We'll invite all the neighbors
To a wedding, gray and smaaaaaaaaall
And we'll live content and pay no rent! In dear ol Donny Gaul.
UP TIP!"
Applause, shouts, and whistles were heard from all corners of the pub as Tiffany bowed and smiled. "Top that and you eat for free tonight!"
That last perked Toki's interest, although he didn't think anyone else heard it over the roar of applause. Considering he was restraining himself from eating the entire bowl of peanuts on the bar, he figured he'd give it a try. Waving down Tiffany, he asked "Whats is de...um...details of playing for free foods?" He said, trying best to remember his English.
After traveling for so long he could understand and speak Swedish, and English he could understand for the most part. Speaking it on the other hand, was a bit of a challenge.
Tiffany gave him a warm smile. "Sweetheart, if you can play something Irish that gets the crowd to stick around and buy more beer you've got yourself a deal."
Toki smiled. "Do you haves an amp?"
The inside of the pub was dim, but cozy. The entire building was crafted from wood, red brick, and brass fixtures that had aged well over several decades. Candles on the tables and the amber light from the bar gave the sitting area a warm, homey feel despite the bite of the chill outside.
Scanning the room Skwisgaar cut a path in the inebriated crowd to the only vacant seat at the bar. Sitting down in the still-warm seat he waited for the emerald eyed bartender to meander his way. When she finished dispensing beverages to the other patrons she approached the Swede. "What can I do ya for hon?"
Skwisgaar dealt out one of his heart-melting smiles as he leaned in over the bar. "I tinks I ams needing a Guinness and perhapks your company laters?"
She shot a well practiced smile back. "The drink I can get for you Mr. Charisma, but I think my husband was counting on my company tonight."
The blonde shrugged, there would be other ladies to snag before the evening was over. "Dat's shames." He said as she placed the dark beer in front of him. As he took the first sip he heard the whine of an electric guitar over the crowd. Turning to the stage he watched a young man strum at a Flying V that looked more worn then the bar-top. The kid didn't look much better. As the notes began to peel together the tune resounding was not what he expected. Instead of being heavy and angry, like most music coming from an electric guitar was, it was high and light spirited. Like a song that would play when a loved one was coming home. He couldn't place why.
After a moment the haggard young man had the attention of nearly everyone in the bar. The audience clapping along to the beat as some swayed their hips and danced lightly. Without knowing it, Skwisgaar tapped the heel of his boot against the bar stool.
He hadn't seen someone play from the heart like this young man was in quite a while. The brunette may have missed a note here or there, but Skwisgaar could practically feel the light emotion emanating from the strings. It was a stark contrast to the malice, spite, and pent up hatred that the Swede usually poured into his own music.
With a final strum the last note resounded through the intoxicated masses, initiating uproarious applause and whistles. Smiling to the crowd he waved a light thanks before unplugging his guitar and heading back to the bar.
Upon returning to the bar he found all the stools occupied, including the one he was sitting in. Shrugging he simply pinched in between Skwisgaar and another patron and waved to the bartender. When the woman noticed him, she smiled. "I've never heard The Blood of Cuchulain played like that before."
The young man smiled. "So dat's good enough?"
She winked at him. "I think that earned you a plate of the house special tonight. Just a second Sugar, I'll get you some." As she turned and vanished behind the double swinging doors, the patron in the adjacent stool vacated to chat with a pretty young thing across the room. Slipping into the seat the young man slid his guitar off his shoulder and rested it against the bar, in between his legs.
"Dat ams interesting playinks." Said Skwisgaar, lighting a cigarette.
The young man looked up at him, seeming at first that he was unsure if he was the one being spoken to. "Hm?" He asked looking up at the Swede.
Now that Skwisgaar got a good look at the young guitarist he saw something he hadn't noticed earlier. His clothes, although clean, were threadbare and tattered at the edges, much like his hair. The brown locks fell to his shoulders and looked as if they had been cut with a knife more than a pair of scissors. His tired face looked tired, but there was a hopeful glint in his blue eyes. He looked like someone who had grown up far too much in such a short amount of time.
He had seen it before, in the mirror.
"Yes, you. Dat was good music. Where you learn to play likes dat?"
He shrugged. "Here and dere. Nobody's really teach me." A curious look crossed his face. "Do I knows you from somewhere?"
Skwisgaar shrugged.
"I do!" He beamed. "You're de lead guitarist of Fuckface Academy, I see you on poster at de port. Skwisgaar, right?"
Skwisgaar exhaled smoke. "Ja. T'ough betweens you and me de band not much longer lastings."
As he spoke a large, hot plate of corned beef, potatoes, and cabbage was placed on the bar. "There you go sweetheart. Enjoy." She had barely turned around before the young man began to shovel food into his mouth. Skwisgaar raised an eyebrow as he spoke between bites.
"Why? Is da band breakings up?" He asked before shoving half a potato in his mouth.
"Sorts of." He said, extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray. As if on cue the snide brogue of Wren, the vocalist washed in over the crowds dull roar. Peeking over the heads of the patrons Skwisgaar caught a glimpse of his band mates at a table across the room. Wren looked pissed.
Crumpling up his empty pack of cigarets he turned to the young man finishing his plate. "I am goings next door to gets some smoke. You wants to come...eh...what I calls you?"
He swallowed a rather large mouthful of corned beef. "Toki, and yeah I come."
"Nice to be meetings you Little Toki." He said as he paid for his drink and picked up his guitar. Toki did the same and followed him through the crowd, weaving his way through the mass of drunken forms.
The brisk night air outside the pub was refreshing compared to the smokey, stuffiness of the bar. The company was certainly less hostile. He was flattered that Toki had recognized him from a poster, (he had become accustomed to people in the metal circles knowing his face) but it was nice not to have someone fawning over him like the typical fan.
After purchasing his smokes the pair stood outside the convenience store as Skwisgaar lit up another cigarette. Normally he didn't smoke quite so much, but the circumstances called for an excuse to stay outside the bar for the moment. Turning to Toki he held out his pack as an offering, but the young man shook his head. "No, t'anks." He said
Skwisgaar shrugged and leaned back into the brick siding of the pub. "So what ams bringing you to de Emeralds Isle?"
Toki's face sank. "I was going to auditions, but dey find someone else." He sighed regretfully.
Exhaling smoke through his nose the blonde smiled down to the brunette. "T'ere loss. Dare I t'inks dat with time you might be almost as good as me with de guitars."
Beaming up at him, Toki gave a legitimate smile. "You tinks so?"
"Ja...almost" Skwisgaar gave an almost unnoticeable smile back. "So what you do now wit your gigs not workings out?"
Toki shrugged, his smile faded. "I don't know."
Flicking his cigarette into the gutter he mentally groaned, he really didn't want to go back into the same pub the rest of his band (or potentially ex-band) was occupying. Even if they didn't notice him he would know they were there and wouldn't be able to enjoy himself.
Looking down the block he noticed the small neon sign of a Pool Hall. "Ams you good at de pool sticks?" He asked Toki.
"I okay. I only play a few times."
Skwisgaar began to walk down the damp street, his boots splashing through puddles. "Wants to play?"
About an hour later Skwisgaar was 4 and 0 with his new acquaintance. Toki was alright at the game, but the blonde was a little better. Granted he usually spent quite a bit more time picking up women rather than play pool while in bars. Billiards was a good game, but every time he picked up a pool stick he had a bit of a flashback to the unfortunate/fortunate week he left Stockholm. Shaking himself out of his thoughts he watched Toki sink the nine ball.
"So you're from Sweden, right?" Toki said, in a familiar tongue.
"Yeah, but I haven't been home for several years... now." Skwisgaar looked confused for a moment after he spoke before looking up to the smirking face of his opponent. "You know Swedish?" He said in his mother language.
Toki nodded proudly. "I recognized your accent. I traveled through Sweden for a few years. Needed to pick it up to survive. What about you? Speak anything other than broken English?"
Skwisgaar scoffed. "Like yours is any better."
Toki shrugged. "It is a bit, but not by much." The brunette became serious for a moment. "Why do you make that odd face every now and then when you play? You just made it again just now."
Skwisgaar put on his blank face and changed the subject. "I have a challenge for you." Toki leaned against the pool table, attentive. "You are currently two points up, if you win this round I will give you a free cruise ticket to New York."
Toki's eyes went wide, not believing what he was hearing. "And if I loose?"
Skwisgaar thought for a moment. "Then you have to be my personal roadie and carry my crap around for a year."
Toki considered his options. If he won he would be heading to the States, if he lost he would at the very least have a job. "Deal."
The game was closer than Skwisgaar would have thought it would be. He wasn't sure if Toki was trying to loose or trying to win. He was hitting most of the difficult shots, but when there was a simple opening he would miss. Now it was just the two of them battling for the 8 ball, and it was Skwisgaars turn.
The 8 ball was two inches from the corner pocket and it was a shot even a novice could get. It was an easy win. Confident with his victory the Swede lined up the shot and called "Eight ball, corner pocket." Taking the shot the 8 ball went into the pocket as expected.
An instant before the Q-ball followed it in.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" He hissed as Toki watched in disbelief. Staying silent the brunet matched blue eyes with the blonde and gave a wary smile.
"Did I just win?"
Skwisgaar huffed loudly. He could care less about the cruise ticket, but he didn't like loosing. At all. Ever. "Yes, you did." Opening his wallet he pulled out the cruise ticket, handing it over the bear billiard table. "Just try and avoid a dildo named Wren and the rest of the Fuckface's. They tend to hang out on the topless deck."
Toki suddenly felt guilty for winning by default. "How are you getting to New York then? What about your band?"
Skwisgaar shrugged. "They can find someone else to fill my shoes... if they can." He added with a small smirk. "Besides, I was considering taking a flight to Florida instead. There's a new band forming there that seems pretty metal. They need a lead guitarist. It's worth a shot."
"That sounds promising. What's the band called?"
"Dethklok."
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That's a comparatively long chapter for me, but I just couldn't stop.
Reviews = Brutal Love
