Tomorrow Brings Something New
1.
At midnight the sons decided to vacate the bar they went to earlier to drink. Before Clay made his way around the exit, he turned and checked the bar, picking up Tig in the corner of his eye. He lifted his head to Tig, who looked around at him, nodding once. Clay decided to move on to the club house where the other sons would be waiting for him, he decided to dismiss Tig, thinking he's probably just waiting to pick up some chick at the bar. Not that there are many girls Tiggy would appreciate here.
As the sons left the bar, more people started to fill in the bar, people who probably wanted to stay away from the conflict the sons seemed to bring them. As Tig waved at the bartender to bring him another whiskey. As soon as it was placed on the sticky counter in front of him, he lifted it up to his mouth and jerked his head back swallowing violently because of the bitter burn it left on the back of his throat. You'd have thought he'd have grown used to the burn by now, but although the sensation had dulled from the overuse of liqueur, he still felt it. It was a pleasant sensation, a sweet burn followed by the warming of the pit in his stomach, tingling his arms and legs with a dull heat.
As more people entered the bar, the noise grew. The drunken yells and smashing of glasses as people got more clumsy by the pint, or shot. There's still a bubble of solitude around Tig, people are sensing the vibe coming from Tig and although he's not said a word in over half an hour, or even looked at anyone, a few people were sneaking him furtive glances, seeming wary of him. Most people know of Tiggy's reputation, above everyone in the club. The murderous, relentless hedonistic asshole. Keep away from him was the vibe he gave off without doing anything much at all.
Tig sighed and looked up properly, spinning on the bar stool and glancing at the many groups of people, stuck in their own social bubbles, seeming oblivious to the biker staring them all down. He looked at the gaggles of teenagers, who were obviously being served alcohol illegally. Remembering the fake ID's he and the rest of the guys had at his age. Before flicking his gaze to the groups of couples, hugging, giggling and kissing in smaller booths and tables. Sighing again he looked over the rest of the crowds before motioning to the bartender again, grumbling a thanks when his whiskey is set beside him.
This time instead of downing it in one he twirled it in his fingers, mulling over where to go next. He didn't want to go back to the clubhouse with the rest of the guys. But he also didn't want to stay here, surrounded by happy couples and friendship groups who aren't worried with the deaths of brothers, friends and families. Where the greatest trivial thing was divorce and rebellion of teenage daughters.
He jumped down from the stool, and left it spinning as he walked away. As he stepped over the exit, he stalled to breathe in the cold air before depraving his lungs and internal organs of oxygen, not this time from sweaty people drinking alcohol but with cigarette smoke. after lighting up he started walking. With no specific destination but he walked on for about forty minutes before deciding he wanted to sit down.
As he made his way to the park he knew was around the corner he remembered the flask of whiskey in his pocket he put in there in case of emergencies. He took a swig as he entered the park, stopping as he saw a shadowed figure swinging slowly on the swing set. He wondered why anyone would be in the park alone at near 3 am he guessed, before chuckling slightly. Well, that's what he was doing right?
As he neared the swing set the figure looked up, startled and squeaked slightly upon seeing the intimidating figure he guessed he was. In the dim light he could see she was the type of girl to run from just the sight of him. It's happened before and it'll happen again. The young, innocent smart girls running from the club, especially from him. The most feared of the club.
To his surprise when he sat on the remaining swing and sighed, she didn't get up and leave, she looked at his face for a while. It unnerved him so he took another sip of his flask. She cleared her throat and motioned to the flask, his eyes shot to hers in surprise. not only that she stayed on the other swing but she also seemed to want some of his whiskey. He offered it to her tentatively, and she shot a grateful look at him before raising it to her lips and gulping twice. She gasped at the intensity of the liqueur, she obviously wasn't used to it.
He thought she looked a bit clean cut to be drinking whiskey regularly. 'damn that shit's strong, what the hell is it?' she half whispered to him, laughing lightly.
'Well yeah, what were you expecting me to drink... lemonade?'
She sighed before answering, a smile in her voice 'I guess, although seriously that tasted like nail polish remover; not good' She took the flask from his hands again and took another drink from it, grimacing this time before Tig took the flask and downed the rest of it, throwing the flask aside before kicking from the ground, silently daring the girl to do the same. Make the swing go higher. The girl did the same. Swinging back and forth, higher and higher.
Tig felt himself smile, grinning with his teeth as the wind swept through his hair, probably making him look more like shit than he already felt he did. His face stiff with what felt like dried soap on his face, trying to stop the smile from growing on his face. He knew it wasn't soap, it was the muscles tight in his face from not smiling in a while. Smiling felt good to him. The girl laughed fully as she drew her head back and put all of her energy into swinging high in the swing set.
As the sons left the bar, more people started to fill in the bar, people who probably wanted to stay away from the conflict the sons seemed to bring them. As Tig waved at the bartender to bring him another whiskey. As soon as it was placed on the sticky counter in front of him, he lifted it up to his mouth and jerked his head back swallowing violently because of the bitter burn it left on the back of his throat. You'd have thought he'd have grown used to the burn by now, but although the sensation had dulled from the overuse of liqueur, he still felt it. It was a pleasant sensation, a sweet burn followed by the warming of the pit in his stomach, tingling his arms and legs with a dull heat.
As more people entered the bar, the noise grew. The drunken yells and smashing of glasses as people got more clumsy by the pint, or shot. There's still a bubble of solitude around Tig, people are sensing the vibe coming from Tig and although he's not said a word in over half an hour, or even looked at anyone, a few people were sneaking him furtive glances, seeming wary of him. Most people know of Tiggy's reputation, above everyone in the club. The murderous, relentless hedonistic asshole. Keep away from him was the vibe he gave off without doing anything much at all.
Tig sighed and looked up properly, spinning on the bar stool and glancing at the many groups of people, stuck in their own social bubbles, seeming oblivious to the biker staring them all down. He looked at the gaggles of teenagers, who were obviously being served alcohol illegally. Remembering the fake ID's he and the rest of the guys had at his age. Before flicking his gaze to the groups of couples, hugging, giggling and kissing in smaller booths and tables. Sighing again he looked over the rest of the crowds before motioning to the bartender again, grumbling a thanks when his whiskey is set beside him.
This time instead of downing it in one he twirled it in his fingers, mulling over where to go next. He didn't want to go back to the clubhouse with the rest of the guys. But he also didn't want to stay here, surrounded by happy couples and friendship groups who aren't worried with the deaths of brothers, friends and families. Where the greatest trivial thing was divorce and rebellion of teenage daughters.
He jumped down from the stool, and left it spinning as he walked away. As he stepped over the exit, he stalled to breathe in the cold air before depraving his lungs and internal organs of oxygen, not this time from sweaty people drinking alcohol but with cigarette smoke. after lighting up he started walking. With no specific destination but he walked on for about forty minutes before deciding he wanted to sit down.
As he made his way to the park he knew was around the corner he remembered the flask of whiskey in his pocket he put in there in case of emergencies. He took a swig as he entered the park, stopping as he saw a shadowed figure swinging slowly on the swing set. He wondered why anyone would be in the park alone at near 3 am he guessed, before chuckling slightly. Well, that's what he was doing right?
As he neared the swing set the figure looked up, startled and squeaked slightly upon seeing the intimidating figure he guessed he was. In the dim light he could see she was the type of girl to run from just the sight of him. It's happened before and it'll happen again. The young, innocent smart girls running from the club, especially from him. The most feared of the club.
To his surprise when he sat on the remaining swing and sighed, she didn't get up and leave, she looked at his face for a while. It unnerved him so he took another sip of his flask. She cleared her throat and motioned to the flask, his eyes shot to hers in surprise. not only that she stayed on the other swing but she also seemed to want some of his whiskey. He offered it to her tentatively, and she shot a grateful look at him before raising it to her lips and gulping twice. She gasped at the intensity of the liqueur, she obviously wasn't used to it.
He thought she looked a bit clean cut to be drinking whiskey regularly. 'damn that shit's strong, what the hell is it?' she half whispered to him, laughing lightly.
'Well yeah, what were you expecting me to drink... lemonade?'
She sighed before answering, a smile in her voice 'I guess, although seriously that tasted like nail polish remover; not good' She took the flask from his hands again and took another drink from it, grimacing this time before Tig took the flask and downed the rest of it, throwing the flask aside before kicking from the ground, silently daring the girl to do the same. Make the swing go higher. The girl did the same. Swinging back and forth, higher and higher.
Tig felt himself smile, grinning with his teeth as the wind swept through his hair, probably making him look more like shit than he already felt he did. His face stiff with what felt like dried soap on his face, trying to stop the smile from growing on his face. He knew it wasn't soap, it was the muscles tight in his face from not smiling in a while. Smiling felt good to him. The girl laughed fully as she drew her head back and put all of her energy into swinging high in the swing set.