And You Can't Tell Anyone (Track Twelve: III) 2, chapter 11
You can read new chapters of this story and post comments on Mibba.
Mike pulled the car up in front of a bar, one Wren did not recognize. Curious, Wren asked, "What's this place?"
Mike pointed at the sign, "The Last Nite. I've been here once or twice, I think you'll like it."
Getting out of the car, Wren was struck by how incredibly cold out it was. The wind threatened to rip the doors right off the car. Hunched against the wind, she managed to walk towards the bar. Once in the foyer/coatroom, she stopped to get a breath, when Mike blew in behind her. Music was making its muffled way through the doors to the inner bar. She could her the low drone of conversation and the clink of dishes.
"Holy fuck, it's windier than hell out there," He commented. Wren reached up and adjusted his hair, making him smile. In a possessive way, he put an arm around her waist. "C'mon, I'll show you around." He pushed the door open.
Inside was an open dining area, with a stage up front. There were a little niches along the back corners, providing secluded booths. A bar with stools stretched out in an aclove to the side of the stage. Directly in front of the stage, the floor dropped down a few steps, providing an area where people were dancing. Farther back, off the dance floor, were tables and chairs for those who might need a rest from all the moshing.
This is beyond cool. Why did I not find out about this place before?
An involuntary smile spread over her face as she watched the band rip through the intro to a fast paced song. With their torn and patched clothes, unnaturally dyed hair, and multiple piercings, they looked like something out of the Sex Pistol era. Old school punk, just the way nature intended. Wren grinned her face off as she took in the scene.
"You like it?" Mike asked guilelessly.
Wren was already eying up the mosh pit. "Do I even have to reply to the question?" She started inching forward, but he pulled her back playfully.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"It's called a mosh pit. I am going there, to partake in an activity, called moshing. Coming?" He seemed hesitant and his eyes flicked over to the bar. Wren laughed. "Are you telling me you don't mosh unless you get drunk?"
"Well, actually, I was thinking I'd get you drunk and see what happens." The way he said it implied that the "something" did not necessarily involve being in the bar at all.
Wren lead the way to a table at the edge of the pit, but not close enough to be in any immediate danger. A waiter of their age came up and grinned at Mike.
"Hey man, is this the girl?" Mike nodded, seeming lost for words. The waiter raised an eyebrow. "Shit. Mike, how'd a dude like you get a girl like that?"
"I have no idea whatsoever," he replied.
The waiter nodded and grinned at Wren. "Are you sure he didn't slip something into your food?"
"If he did, I haven't noticed."
"Yep, he's pretty sneaky for a tall guy. Sometimes he manages to get up on the stage and pluck out a tune or two." The waiter whipped out his notepad, "So, what can I get you guys? We've got a two for one special at the bar for the next half hour."
Mike shook his head, "Sorry man, I can't. I'm driving."
"And since when has that stopped you?" The waiter asked cheerily, then shrugged. "Ah well, it'd be a shame for you both to get smashed up in a car accident or something. Then who would I have to make sure I get paid?"
Mike laughed and said, "Yeah, poor you. How about you bring us two of the cesear salads you brag about so much?"
The waiter nodded and scribbled on his pad. "So, what about drinks? We have normal day drinks, like coffee and cuppachino, water, pop, juice...."
"I think I'll have the Twitcher." Mike responded.
"Alright. And for the hottest chick that I ever saw Mike bring in here..."
"Can I get a small vanilla cuppachino?"
The waiter mock scowled, "No, you can't!" Wren laughed as he brightened up and said, "Of course you can. Sit tight and I'll be right back."
Wren could not help but look around in delight. This place was going to become her new hang out; she could feel it. Before long, the waiter returned with their order and a few smart-ass comments. Wren was having a blast, and that was even before the got out and started moshing. In a small club, Wren decided, the atmosphere was so much more energetic than some stadium show. As she and Mike headed back to their table for a short break, he excused himself to go to the washroom.
*Mike
He grinned away to himself. It had been a bit of a risk, he had not been exactly sure what she would like this. Now he knew it had been a rather stupid doubt.
As he slipped down the hall to the bathrooms, he just avoided bumping into a rather hefty looking fellow with no a fierce goatee. The big dude stopped walking and glared.
"Hey watch where you're going." He scowled and then narrowed his eyes, "You're Mike right?"
Mike did not like the looks of this guy, who was about four times his size and appeared to have a bad temper.
"What if I am?"
The big man shoved Mike up against the wall. "Watch it, Stick Boy. Or maybe I should say, Punk?"
Mike pushed off the big guy's hands, "So what if I am? What do you want?"
"I'm here on behalf of my employer--" The muscle man did not have time to finish as a loud explosion rocked the place. Smoke immediately obscured Mike's vision. There were screams and shouts. Then, even worse, gunshots.
Mike pointed at the sign, "The Last Nite. I've been here once or twice, I think you'll like it."
Getting out of the car, Wren was struck by how incredibly cold out it was. The wind threatened to rip the doors right off the car. Hunched against the wind, she managed to walk towards the bar. Once in the foyer/coatroom, she stopped to get a breath, when Mike blew in behind her. Music was making its muffled way through the doors to the inner bar. She could her the low drone of conversation and the clink of dishes.
"Holy fuck, it's windier than hell out there," He commented. Wren reached up and adjusted his hair, making him smile. In a possessive way, he put an arm around her waist. "C'mon, I'll show you around." He pushed the door open.
Inside was an open dining area, with a stage up front. There were a little niches along the back corners, providing secluded booths. A bar with stools stretched out in an aclove to the side of the stage. Directly in front of the stage, the floor dropped down a few steps, providing an area where people were dancing. Farther back, off the dance floor, were tables and chairs for those who might need a rest from all the moshing.
This is beyond cool. Why did I not find out about this place before?
An involuntary smile spread over her face as she watched the band rip through the intro to a fast paced song. With their torn and patched clothes, unnaturally dyed hair, and multiple piercings, they looked like something out of the Sex Pistol era. Old school punk, just the way nature intended. Wren grinned her face off as she took in the scene.
"You like it?" Mike asked guilelessly.
Wren was already eying up the mosh pit. "Do I even have to reply to the question?" She started inching forward, but he pulled her back playfully.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"It's called a mosh pit. I am going there, to partake in an activity, called moshing. Coming?" He seemed hesitant and his eyes flicked over to the bar. Wren laughed. "Are you telling me you don't mosh unless you get drunk?"
"Well, actually, I was thinking I'd get you drunk and see what happens." The way he said it implied that the "something" did not necessarily involve being in the bar at all.
Wren lead the way to a table at the edge of the pit, but not close enough to be in any immediate danger. A waiter of their age came up and grinned at Mike.
"Hey man, is this the girl?" Mike nodded, seeming lost for words. The waiter raised an eyebrow. "Shit. Mike, how'd a dude like you get a girl like that?"
"I have no idea whatsoever," he replied.
The waiter nodded and grinned at Wren. "Are you sure he didn't slip something into your food?"
"If he did, I haven't noticed."
"Yep, he's pretty sneaky for a tall guy. Sometimes he manages to get up on the stage and pluck out a tune or two." The waiter whipped out his notepad, "So, what can I get you guys? We've got a two for one special at the bar for the next half hour."
Mike shook his head, "Sorry man, I can't. I'm driving."
"And since when has that stopped you?" The waiter asked cheerily, then shrugged. "Ah well, it'd be a shame for you both to get smashed up in a car accident or something. Then who would I have to make sure I get paid?"
Mike laughed and said, "Yeah, poor you. How about you bring us two of the cesear salads you brag about so much?"
The waiter nodded and scribbled on his pad. "So, what about drinks? We have normal day drinks, like coffee and cuppachino, water, pop, juice...."
"I think I'll have the Twitcher." Mike responded.
"Alright. And for the hottest chick that I ever saw Mike bring in here..."
"Can I get a small vanilla cuppachino?"
The waiter mock scowled, "No, you can't!" Wren laughed as he brightened up and said, "Of course you can. Sit tight and I'll be right back."
Wren could not help but look around in delight. This place was going to become her new hang out; she could feel it. Before long, the waiter returned with their order and a few smart-ass comments. Wren was having a blast, and that was even before the got out and started moshing. In a small club, Wren decided, the atmosphere was so much more energetic than some stadium show. As she and Mike headed back to their table for a short break, he excused himself to go to the washroom.
*Mike
He grinned away to himself. It had been a bit of a risk, he had not been exactly sure what she would like this. Now he knew it had been a rather stupid doubt.
As he slipped down the hall to the bathrooms, he just avoided bumping into a rather hefty looking fellow with no a fierce goatee. The big dude stopped walking and glared.
"Hey watch where you're going." He scowled and then narrowed his eyes, "You're Mike right?"
Mike did not like the looks of this guy, who was about four times his size and appeared to have a bad temper.
"What if I am?"
The big man shoved Mike up against the wall. "Watch it, Stick Boy. Or maybe I should say, Punk?"
Mike pushed off the big guy's hands, "So what if I am? What do you want?"
"I'm here on behalf of my employer--" The muscle man did not have time to finish as a loud explosion rocked the place. Smoke immediately obscured Mike's vision. There were screams and shouts. Then, even worse, gunshots.
