The Power of Love

It wasn't your intention to hold court tonight, but that's just one of the burdens of being you: give the masses an opportunity for adulation, and they're gonna take it every time. And besides, Candledick's bold claims about the fanciness of their clapping have proven to be tragically hollow. So, you really don't have anything better to do then perch on your barstool with all the poise of a beneficent monarch, casually sipping magic from your teacup and archly accepting the admiration and well-wishes of your fellow music scene dirtbags.

Mostly it's harmless stuff. A handful of girls you remember from shows over the years, wanting to show off a new tattoo or gossip about which bands are secretly all fucking each other. More than a few requests for selfies, most of which will undoubtedly wind up in various instagrams with hundreds of **** comments reading 'SAUCE PLZ'. And, naturally, a flood of brave or foolhardy music lovers who've plucked up the courage to give you their number. You've got them all neatly piled in a stack that's perilously close to toppling over. Maybe you'll make a scrapbook out of them.

Of course, it's not all totally harmless. A non-trival amount of your misguided admirers belong to various genera of fuckboy. Like this guy now, who's having more trouble than he should with the facts that you don't drink ****, it's illegal for him to buy you ****, and you don't want him to buy you anything regardless. This has gone on long enough. Luckily, you have more tools at your disposal than most women at clubs who can't seem to get someone to take a hint. So you graciously allow him to finish his final cajoling offer, smartly tap an ebony painted finger onto the rune you've drawn on the bar top, and he immediately walks away with a dazed expression to go do literally anything else.

Okay, next.

'Next' doesn't take very long to squeeze up to the bar, a cute enough guy about your age. Hm, you're partial to the glasses. Well, might as well let him add his number to the pile. He raises his voice over Candledick's insistent din. "Hey!"

You give him a friendly smile over your teacup. "Hey!"

"Aren't they great?"

It takes you a moment to realize he's referring to Candledick. "Er, sure? They do seem to have trouble agreeing on a beat, though. Seems important for clapping."

Glasses raises his eyebrows at that, then gives an indulgent chuckle. "What? No no, you're totally missing it. That's polyrhythm. You know?"

You do know. That's not what this is. "Well yeah, but--"

He's going to tell you about it anyway. "See, when they use different rhythms at the same time, it's actually--"

You tap your fingers against the rune, and Glasses wanders off. Next.

Okay, this guy is at least twice your age and has a man bun. You're gonna give him maybe five words. He begins: "So I was re-reading Infinite Jest and--"

You immediately tap the rune, then just keep tapping it over and over. You don't stop until he's not just walked away, but fully spun around and marched straight out of the bar. It's entirely possible that you hit him so hard that he's headed home to pack up all his shit and move a state over. You wish him and David Foster Wallace well.

Well on balance, this has been a lamer evening than you'd hoped for. Let's run down a quick tier list for the evening. Number one with a bullet, you look fucking great. That's a silver lining that's always happy to do its part. Second, the lime-green and neon pink Heart Fukks shirt you picked up for Isabelle is going to be funny as hell and sexy as fuck on her all at once. Third...um, you've done a pretty good job making this list. Fuuck, you're beginning to suspect that there's a reason you hang out with the same three people more or less exclusively. Yes, you're counting your mother. She's great, shut up.

Your ears perk up as the sound of a jukebox kicking in fills the club. Hey, we've got a fourth entry to the list! It seems like Candledick finally ran out of steam and Heart Fukks isn't ready to come back on yet, so you're going to get to listen to some actual music for at least a little while. It's absolutely the smallest turnaround possible, and you're gonna cling to it like a drowning woman. You're so pleased by the sound of anything that isn't clapping, fancy or otherwise, and it takes you a moment to recognize the song.

'The POWER of Love...is a curious thing!'

...Is that Hewis Lewis and the Goddamn News?

'...Makes one man weep, and another man sing!'

You take a thoughtful sip from your teacup, mulling over your feelings about overproduced eighties New Wave. Do you like this? Fuck it, yes, you like it. And you know what? You're willing to accept that about yourself. So much so that you stiffen your back and resolutely announce it to the world in general. "I like this song. There. I said it."

"I thought you might."

Oh, looks like you still had another 'Next' in the wings. You glance over and are pleasantly surprised to see that Next is another girl around your age. And, um, she's actually kind of a fucking smokeshow: perfect skin the color of milky tea, long black hair, teasing lips and legs that apparently go on forever, all wrapped up in a punky jacket and tight jeans. She's like a South Asian Joan Jett, and it works goddamn it. Even if you wind up having to use the rune again, at the very least you can't claim you didn't like the view. You playfully quirk at eyebrow at her. "Did you now?"

The girl gives a casual shrug, flipping her long black hair over shoulder. "It was an educated guess. But now that it's confirmed, I pretty much know everything about you."

You peer at her over the rim of your cup for a moment. That should have been really annoying, but...you don't know. You're sort of down to play. "Is that a fact."

"Of course. I bet I can reverse engineer your favorite artist, even. If you give me a bit of wiggle room."

"Oh~? Please, do!"

You pour yourself another cup of milk, taking an expectant sip as the girl spins around on her barstool to shoot you a calculating look with a golden-brown eye. "Well, let's get the obvious out of the way: there's no chance it's from this century. You've got a record player, I'll bet."

"Lots of people--"

"And a wall of records." She spreads her hands out invitingly. "Hey, if I'm wrong, and it's fucking BTS or something, just say so. I'll admit defeat right now."

"...fine okay, go on."

Her grin widens for a moment, your heart skipping a beat in spite of yourself. "It's not something super obvious like Bauhaus or Sisters of Mercy. You definitely want it to be something you can tell people and have them be all 'Oh huh, this girl's a little different'. Right?"

There's no question at this point: You're being negged. And it's kinda working. "Well dang. I feel so exposed."

The girl leans forward, her honey-rich voice low as her hand brushes yours. "Not yet you don't." The breath catches in your chest, pupils dilating as that barest hint of her skin against yours sets your mind ablaze. Visions of walking hand in hand, of endless nights twisted together, of passionate fights and orgasmic reunions imprint themselves on your suddenly feverish brain. Fuck, this girl is too much. Did she notice you spacing out? Ugh, of course she did. "Should I go on?"

You carefully clear your throat, hoping your cheeks aren't as red as they feel. "S-sure."

She winks, and you try not to bite your lip. "So! It's probably something mainstream you're prepared to defend, rather than something niche you're ready to champion. Someone post-punk-y, a bit eclectic, but has definitely been on the charts. I would say something like David Byrne--"

You're quick to cut in, eager to get back some of the upper hand. "Well! I mean, I like David Byrne, but I don't think I'd say--"

She holds up her hand, and you fall silent. "...I was about to say, he's not quite your style. Your favorite artist is Annie Lennox."

That's...um, wow. You're not sure how to respond. "How--"

"And your favorite song is Little Bird."

"Okay, that's ridiculous. How the hell did you know that?"

She waggles her fingers on either side of her face in a faux spooky manner "It was magic~~!" You freeze as the girl makes a cartoonish ghostly 'Ooooo' noise, suddenly rethinking every aspect of this interaction. Was it magic? Is that why you...? You've only begun to consider it when the girl speaks up again. "The Magic of Gooo~ooogle~!"

What. "What?"

She holds up her phone, revealing a Google search for your name. "They interviewed you for some puff piece on your mom last year, and you said that was your favorite song. Second search result, right after this subreddit that reposts hot pictures of you." She dramatically clicks something on her screen. "Bookmarked, bee tee dubs."

You stare dumbly at the inordinately pleased-looking girl for a long moment, and then can no longer hold in your disbelieving laugh. "Wow. You're kinda a creep, huh?"

"No, Ashley." She leans forward again, and you can taste her sweet breath. "I am absolutely a creep. Wanna get out of here?"

This time, you don't have to wonder if your cheeks are as red as they feel. "Oh, um, I'm in a relationship? And stuff?"

She slowly runs her tongue across her teeth, eyes heavily lidded as a bead of sweat trickles down your forehead. "So?"

Jesus, an answer to that question should be super fucking easy, but for the life of you you can't come up with one right now You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again, all too aware of how much you look like a sexually flustered fish as you desperately try to figure out a way to deal with this situation. This teasing, sexy, kinda domme-y in a way that hits you exactly right situation. Fuck. It's such a relief when your phone buzzes in a text that it's a wonder you manage to fumble it out of your jacket pocket. It's from Jenny; isn't she supposed to be on her date with Quinn Foley? You don't notice whatever it is the girl is saying as you unlock your phone, squinting down at your best friend's text.

Ash I need to see you, can you come over?

Whoa, you weren't expecting that. You quickly tap out a worried reply.

Is everything okay??

The 'typing' sign immediately pops up from Jenny, her response not taking long.

Don't want to talk about it over the phone :/ Please come over?

You're already slipping into your jacket as you crack out a response, the girl you've all but forgotten giving you a rather put-out look, a disbelieving cast her amber-colored eyes. "What are you doing? We're not done ye--" You pause your typing long enough to tap your fingers against your rune, the girl's face going blank as she quietly turns and walks away.

be right there <3<3<3

Okay, hopefully your earlier wish for the evening to end didn't result in something bad happening on Jenny's date. You're pretty sure that Sydney's somewhere getting Eiffel Towered by Candledick right now, so you're going to have to use the drive share service to get back to your neck of the woods. You start to pull up the app on your phone, and almost as an afterthought grab the pile of numbers you've collected over the night.

Then you pause, looking down at the slip of paper on the very top. That's the girl's number. Her number. Your breath slows as you consider that, the visions that burned themselves into your memories at her touch faintly shimmering before your eyes again. Maybe you should...

...No. No. You've got to go to Jenny. You flick the top paper off of the stack, allowing the girl's digits to flutter to the ground forgotten as you shove the rest into your pocket and start for the door. It'll be a less interesting scrapbook now, but you've got enough of that sort of interesting in your life already.

Now. Let's go see a friend about a problem.

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