Treble Clef IPA // Roleplay With Eris

Typically this was a question he would've ignored, but…..there was something different about Mila. Was it her eyes? Her lips? Maybe. Her voice?…..No. It was her everything. Baylee realized right there that he'd just developed a crush on the woman. She was so different than the drunk sluts and the heartbroken girls just looking for a bounce-back. He'd worked in this bar for so long he forgot women other than that even existed. Glancing over at Mila for a moment, he couldn't help but allow a small smile to slip through his permanent scowl.

"My dad was from Vietnam," he explained, placing ice into a highball glass as he spoke. Then, he dropped 4 ounces of cranberry juice, around 1 ounce of Johnnie Walker, and then topped it off with the grapefruit, sliding a lime garnish onto the side of the cup. "So I was raised speaking two languages." He slid the drink over and dried his hands off with a white rag, leaning against the bar in front of her. He gave her a decent amount of space, however, since he was somewhat new to this type of stuff.

Mila cheered internally. She had gotten him to smile again! She didn't know why it was so important to make Baylee smile, but hell did she feel like a million bucks for doing so. She was still wearing a smug little look as she brought the drink closer to her, stirring it as she spoke again. "Ah, so you didn't have to suffer through four years of languages classes in high school like the rest of us. Lucky." She raised her glass in salute to him, her blue eyes reflecting the light of the bar, warming them, making them almost look downright mischievous. Mila hummed in pleasure as the liquid met her lips and tongue. The fruity alcohol mix warming her chest as it went down.

"S'not like they teach Vietnamese classes, either," he said with a shrug. On the outside, he looked casual and calm, like this type of thing was normal for him. On the inside, however, it felt like someone had rearranged his organs. His liver was not his lungs, his kidneys functioned as his gol bladder, but most importantly, his heart was functioning as his brain. He had no clue what he was doing, talking to her, and it was…exhilarating.

"Where the…hell is she?" a man shouted as soon as he walked into the bar. The guy already had a half-drunken beer bottle in his left hand and a balled up picture. Berry stood up as the guy stumbled over to Mila and slammed his hand down on the bar. "What the fuck do you think yer doin'? Talkin' to some fuckin' Asian guy?"

Baylee grit his teeth and didn't budge, his smile gone in an instant.

(This is the bitch ass ex, btw)

(lol I assumed. I'm giving him a rando name.)

Damn. How could he be so cool and calm while she was practically vibrating in her seat, watching out for that slim smile whenever it popped out again? Mila had had her fair share of trysts travelling across the country, but talking to Baylee was like picking up along forgotten conversation between the oldest friends. Easy, teasing, poking at something just beyond the edge of comfortable banter of 'just friends'.

She had been about to say that Vietnamese classes would have been much more fun than the years of French that she had been forced to take in boarding school, but Mila's words were cut off by the most unwelcome of guests. She almost dropped her special drink in order to help the stumbling gentleman. That is until she saw who it was. "Jac–Jacob?!" Mila gaped at the large man, dread pooling in her gut. Great. Just great. "Jesus Christ. What are you doing–I'm so sorry Berry–Jacob, what are you doing here?"

The singer hopped down from her stool, going to stand between the bouncer and her drunken ex. If one counted barely a month of dating worth calling someone an ex. She couldn't bear to look at Baylee. He was probably never going to talk to her and her baggage ever again. Shame flooded her face as she squared her shoulders to face off Jacob.

"Yer comin' back with me," he said, grabbing her roughly by the shoulder and beginning to drag her out of the door. The entire bar stopped and watched the scenario play out as she struggled against his grip.

"That's enough, motherfu-" Berry was cut off by a strong shove from Jacob, sending him crashing into the wall.

"You got sum fuckin' nerve, y'know that?" Jacob growled, his glazed over eyes filled with an alcohol-filled rage. His arm reached back again, this time into a fist that was pointed at Mila.

It happened so fast that it was almost a blur. Baylee jumped over the bar, spilling the Sea Breeze cocktail in the process and getting his left sneaker wet. The floor itself was sticky, though, so he landed without an issue. His fist swung out at a vicious arc, slamming into the drunken face of Jacob with a loud crack. Berry had taught him to punch about a month ago, and that training paid off. It knocked the man onto his back and left him barely conscious. Baylee grabbed Mila's forearm and pulled her behind him protectively as the drunken asshole raised his head again, blinking a few times in a dazed confusion.

"Berry, get his ass outta here," Baylee growled through clenched teeth.

Berry did so gladly, picking the guy up by the armpits and tossing him out of the bar.

"Christ," the bartender mumbled, turning around and studying Mila's face. "Did that lỗ đít hurt you?"

(Translation: Asshole.)

(I ran out of steam half-way, sorry if it sucks ;-;)

(That's what I get for writing without my music)

(yea….no it does not suck my friend.)

(put yo damn music on!)

They said that shock was one hell of a drug, but never had Mila ever thought that the statement was true. At least, not until this very moment. Jacob's grip on her shoulder and then her arm had been brutal. Enough to bring tears immediately to her eyes. She had bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out, but that seemed to have been a bad idea since she could taste the blood in her mouth. Her hand was trembling as it rose to touch her self inflicted wound and it took a moment to register that it was indeed blood that coated her finger tips. Mila hadn't even noticed that Baylee had spoken.

"Holy– Oh my god. I'm so sorry." Her voice trembled, but her eyes remained tear free as she looked up at Baylee, then Berry and back again. "Are you okay?" She asked Berry and then turned to Baylee when she received a gruff nod from the bouncer. "Baylee–God–I'm sorry–Are you okay?" Her hands moving from her lips to gently touch the hand that had punched Jacob clear into tomorrow. She brought it up to eye level, inspecting the slightly swollen knuckles. Mila's lip was still bleeding with vigor, but it was like she couldn't process that she had been hurt.

"It's jus' a bruise," he said, allowing her to inspect his hand until he realized that she had blood of her face. He gently reached out with his free hand and tilted her head up so he could see her lip. Thank god, she just bit herself, he thought scrunching his nose up as the sight of the wound. The mouth was probably the worst spot for anything to happen, however, since she still had three more sets to play.

"Lemme get a rag for you," he said, taking his hand back and walking over to the bar. He grabbed the piece of cloth he'd just tossed aside barely 5 minutes ago and walked back over to her. The thought of dabbing the blood himself passed through his head, but he ultimately just handed her the rag. "How bad does it hurt?"

"It doesn't." Mila said absently, her eyes were a little unfocused as she took the cloth and brought it up to her lips. Her face had warmed when Baylee touched her, and she wondered idly when it had gotten so cold in the bar. Was the world shaking or was it her? Hell if she knew. Vaguely, she heard Berry barking at the crowd to return to their drinks that "nothin' worth seein' was happenin', you buncha nosy fools".

Pulling the cloth away from her lips, she got sight of the blood again and felt her entire face flush. Oh my god. That really just happned. She blinked down at it wearily. She should have left town after breaking it off with Jacob. She had known it the last time she had to cover a fresh set of bruises with extra foundation, but she had stayed. Goddammit, she had stayed like an idiot because she liked her job too much, liked this bar too much, liked this stupid little city too much. She should have just been a passing memory to most of these people. Now there would be gossip. "I'm sorry, Baylee." Mila whispered to the ground. She held out the towel for him to take, but hissed in pain when she extended her shoulder. "Oh-fuc–Ow."

"Ain't nothin' to apologize for, búp bê," he said, frowning at her wince. He tossed the rag back over to the bar, watching it land on the floor with barely a noise. When he turned back to Mila, his frown deepened. She looked beyond distressed. The playful, confident woman he'd been talking to left as soon mas that Jacob asshole walked in, and appeared to leave with him as well. "He hurt you before, or is somethin' new he decided to try?"

He already knew the answer, but the one that she gave would show how scared she was of the guy. Or she might just not answer because he was prying in too deep.

Well isn't this a great way to make friends? Having your abusive ex stop by to muck up everything is ideal, is it not? Mila rolled her tongue in her mouth, the pink end coming out to gently prod the wound. Finally, she was able to look up at the bartender, running her hand through her thick waves as she did so–with the arm that didn't feel like it was on fire every time she moved. To answer or to not answer? That was the question. Naturally, Mila was leaning towards playing it off and had the words ready to go, but they caught in her throat as soon as she met Baylee's gaze.

"It's not new…" She hesitated, what for she didn't know, but the look that crossed his eyes for a split second was terrifying. "But it's no big deal. I'm a tough cookie remember? It'll take more than that to bring me down." Was she smiling? It felt like it. Right? Mila wasn't sure anymore. She felt so small in front of Baylee, but in a way that was almost comforting. It was a little too much to process in this moment in time.

"Tôi sẽ đâm vào đôi mắt chết tiệt của anh ấy," he growled, his face turning a nasty shade of red. It wasn't just the fact that he'd hit Mila, although that certainly didn't help.The fact that he had hit a woman at all made his head throb with anger.

(Translation: I'll stab his damn eyes.)

"D'ya think you can still sing, or do you jus' wanna call it a night?" Baylee asked, turning his attention back to the singer. She looked….scared, even with the smile she was attempting. "If boss won't pay ya for not finishin' the gig, I'll do it for 'im."

"Oh Christ, I have to do that don't I?" Mila murmured to no one in particular. She glanced over her shoulder to the stage, contemplating. Music had always been her release. A way to get out all the bullshit in her head, but was she in the mood to sing the upbeat songs that the bar–and her boss–expected her to? "Ugh what a drag." She continued, scuffing her boots on the ground in annoyance.

Mila didn't want to appear weak, not in front of the patrons–who were still casting her looks out of the sides of their eyes–and especially not in front of Baylee. God knew her reputation was ruined at this point. Sighing again, she folded her arms, ignoring the screaming pain of her shoulder. Leaving in a weeping mess, would prove to no one that she was the tough cookie that she claimed. Not to mention it would give Jacob some satisfaction that he had gotten such a rise out of her.

That's the thought that did it. Mila's jaw set stubbornly and she glanced at Baylee, a renewed, but small, fire in her eyes. "I'll be okay." She said to him, not unkindly. "But thank you…" She gently reached out and took his punching hand once more and gave it a quick squeeze.

Then it was Baylee's turn to wince, his bruised knuckles being squeezed together just enough to aggravate the wound(?). His hand would be fine, but his drinks would probably take a bit longer to be made, since he would have to slow down.

"Jus'…don't overwork yourself," he said, giving her one last concerned look before heading back behind the bar. Three orders were waiting patiently for him, so he got to work immediately, mixing drink with the same stone cold look he had before she approached.

"Y' managed to break through t' 'im," Berry said from behind her, settling down on his stool once again. "Damn near Herculean task, yet y' did it in a single night. Impressive."

Mila practically leaped out of her skin at the sound of Berry's voice. She supposed it was still safe to say that her nerves were more than a little frazzled. When she turned to face him, the wild look was dying out of her eyes. "I'm not sure what you mean?" She asked, voice strained. When she realized that he was just sitting and not coming at her, she relaxed. "Baylee is–Baylee." She continued, voice equally soft and inquisitive. Mila looked back at the man in question, watching the way he easily and confidently worked the bar. Despite his scowl, he still looked handsome as shit under the lighting of the bar.

Mila's mouth went dry. Damn what a thought. She chastised herself, but hell if she didn't mean it. he looked at her right then and paused in his work for just a moment, as if checking one final time that she was okay. Blushing, Mila looked back to Berry. "You're speaking in riddles, my friend."

"I'm not smart enough for riddles," he grunted, a small grin on his face from the comment. "I've worked with that boy for about 8 years now, an' never once had he spoken to anyone other than me and the boss. Soon as you come around, though, he's smilin' and carryin' on conversations and shit. Lookin' the happiest he'd ever been. You got a hold on him, alright."

"He's charming in his own way." Mila softly intoned. She rocked back and forth in her boots, blushing furiously. Why was this line of conversation making her all a flutter? One would think that Baylee was her first crush. She froze. Completely went still as statue. Crush?! Oh. Oh hell no. "I–I should probably get–stage–back on stage." Stuttering like a fool, Mila about faced and marched over to the stage. Berry chuckled from behind her, and the noise made yet another flush travel from the very tips of her toes, to the very tip of her nose. What in the hell is all this about?

Ignoring the rest of the bar, she hopped up through the railing of the stage, shoulder screaming, and flicked off the standard playlist. A playlist was hastily written on a piece of paper taped to the back of her amp, but her eyes could barely focus on the words. "Goddammit." She muttered and a flutter of laughter trailed through the bar in response. She had spoken directly into the mic. Great. Her confidence was failing her, but it was one of those times where she had to fake it until she made it. If that was how it was going to be then so bit it. Mila put on her most seductive smile, flipping though her ancient ipod until the song she wanted appeared.

When the notes started, she threw all her sanity to the wind, letting the song take control as she purred into the mic.

Obviously, Baylee didn't even notice her cursing into the microphone, too absorbed into his work to really care. After making a Whiskey Sour, a Mai Tai, and three Greyhounds, the hand he used to rock Jacob throbbed with pain. Luckily, those were type of drinks that you sit there and sip casually, so he didn't have to worry about making anymore until another 15 to 20 minutes. He took the time to wrap a few ice cubs inside another rag and hold it against the back of his hand.

Mila's singing was enough to make every guy in there, taken or otherwise, drool with amazement and lust. Well, all except for 1. Baylee still kept himself on task, cleaning glasses, restocking ice, and refilling the occasional pint of beer. It's not that he didn't enjoy her singing, because he truly did,. It was more about the respect he held for the opposite sex. Guys that sit there, catcalling and shamelessly oversexualizing women made him sick to his stomach, which is pretty much what everyone was doing at the moment. Was he interested? Hell yes. Was he about to make it obvious? Fuck no.

It was good to sing. Really, it was therapeutic for Mila. It didn't matter what emotion was flooding her at the moment, when she sang it all came out, when she moved her body to the beat everything else shifted away. The attention she didn't mind, but she could sing into an empty room and still feel as wonderful as she did to a crowd. Their energy was helpful in getting her in certain moods for songs, but they weren't necessary. They're eyes just felt like lasers burning holes into the naughty bits of her body.

Well all except a certain pair of green eyes. Mila had known each time Baylee glanced up at her, but she didn't use it as an excuse to overly flaunt herself to get him to lust after her, instead she just smiled that same grin that he had responded to earlier. The sweet one. And somehow it seemed way more flirtatious.

Her smiles put billions butterflies into his stomach each time they made eye contact, but his facial expression never changed. It would take a lot more than a few smiles and some insects to make his armor crack. She was, however, managing to sneak her way into the openings in the facade, resulting in a single, split second smile back before he turned around and began wiping down the countertop.

"I like a guy with a nice right hook," a female voice said from his left, but he ignored it, just as usual. She was either drunk or looking for sex, and he was interested in neither. "I'll take a Hurricane, please."

Bayle groaned inwardly. A Hurricane was the last thing he wanted to make at the moment. It was a pain in the ass to find all of the ingredients, the cups were annoying as shit, and the people who ordered them were even more aannoying. 3 minutes later, at the end of Mila's song, he slid the large, curved glass over to the blonde woman who'd ordered.

(I had to look up Hurricane just so I understood how annoying this unnamed puta was going to be. lol)

(Fucking passion fruit syrup)

She pumped her fist. Actually pumped it like mother fucking Rocky Balboa, when she saw Baylee's millisecond smile. Of course she seamlessly tied it into her dancing, but she couldn't help feeling her heart give a massive beat in excitement. She finished the song she was singing almost breathless. Honestly, this schoolgirl crush was getting over the top. Mila laughed a bit to herself in the few seconds of breaktime that she had between songs. What was she? Sixteen? Hardly.

The next song started and she could feel the slight frustration that it wasn't going fast enough. This was the last song of her set, which meant that she could go push that blonde and her ridiculous looking drink out of the way so she could chat with Baylee some more. Ugh. Mila frowned slightly, causing the notes to come out a bit deeper that usual as she chastised herself once more. Calm the fuck down. No need to go feral woman on a random patron. But damn was she really flirting with him?

"You gotta name, bartender?" the lady asked, leaning forward on the barstool as Baylee put away the passion fruit syrup. He hated that shit with a burning passion. It stains clothes, fingers, and basically everything that it touches, along with the stickiness. Overall, just a horrible ingredient to work with.

"I asked you a question," the blonde said, sounding more amused than annoyed. "What, y'ain't gonna answer?"

"No," he said simply, grabbing the 4 types of rum used in the fucking thing and returning them to their rightful spots. She was really beginning to get on his nerves.

Finally, finally, it was over. The crowd cheered and Mila took her bow. "Alrighty folks, tip me nicely. I'll be back later, if you all are lucky. In the meantime here's some less tasteful music." With a grin, she flipped on the bland playlist from the boss. He was always griping how she made fun of his music and it now seemed that it was becoming an inside joke. Mila stepped through the bars of the stage and padded over to the bar. Thankfully no one bothered her this time. Although, that was probably more Baylee's fault than her resting bitch face's.

Eye's twinkling she came up beside the blonde, copying her seductive lean over the counter to a T, except Mila was about a thousand shades more playful about it. "What's a girl got to do to get a drink around here?"

"Pay some money," he said simply, taking the ice off of his bruised knuckles and rubbing them gently. His eyes sparkled with amusement, the low lighting catching the perfect angle for the green to damn near glow. This time, no on even looked in the direction of the bar, worried about receiving one of those right hooks the blonde had been talking about "What can I getcha, rockstar?"

Mila pouted, just as the other woman huffed rather loudly trying to draw Baylee's attention back to her and failing miserably. "Money? Don't you know that I pay for my drinks simply by gracing you with my presence?" She shrugged, wincing roughly at the pain in her shoulder, but covering it by reaching over and booping Baylee on the nose. "But! Since you asked–I never got to finish my drink from earlier. Would you mind making me another?" She finished her statement softly, looking up at him through her lashes. The blonde, tapped her foot impatiently, rolling her eyes at Mila, before huffing loudly once more.