Treble Clef IPA // Roleplay With Eris

"Here," he said, handing her the rag with the ice in it. "Put this on your shoulder for a bit. And, ma'am," Baylee turned to the blonde with that same stony expression, "you still haven't paid."

With a huff, she pulled out a wad of cash and slammed it onto the bar, picking up her drink and walking back over to her group of friends.

"I'm afraid I might've broken the poor girl's heart," Baylee mumbled, just loud enough for Mila to hear as he got to work on the drink. "Seems as though I've put the fear of the bartender into your crowd. They were very courteous this time around."

Grumbling about it not hurting that much, Mila accepted the pseudo-icepack. A shiver went through her as she placed it against her shoulder, but she couldn't keep the sigh of relief behind her teeth. She hadn't noticed the adrenaline wearing off enough that actually now that she thought about it, most of her ached and she was exhausted. Christ what a day.

"I'm sure she'll survive. They're are plenty of horny asshats for her to take home." The singer said, poking her tongue out at the bartender's obvious indifference. She chuckled a moment later, sliding more comfortably into one of the stools. "You know what they say. Every touch cookie has a ninja bartender behind her." My god, had she really said that? Mila blushed furiously at the slight double entendre of her words, choosing to keep her gaze far, far from Baylee. When had she become so cheesy?

Baylee's reaction was immediate and…shocking. A loud snort came from his noise, followed by light chuckling as he topped off the highball glass with the grapefruit juice. Everyone in the bar turned to listen to the man laugh, for it was the first time they'd ever heard him get even close to it. Even some of the legendary jokes that are retold for the rest of time only make him smile. Yet, a simple double entendre was the first thing to make him crack.

"You really didn't think that through, did you?" the bartender asked, setting the glass in front of her and setting a lime wedge on the top of the drink.

"I blame the adrenaline." Mila spoke into her drink. Holy shit, did she want him to laugh some more. It positively made him a sight. She was suddenly self conscious for a multitude of reasons. One- her damn mouth had a mind of it's own apparently. And two- everyone was staring at the two of them-again–and she was reminded of what Berry had told her earlier about Baylee. Slyly, but at the same time not slyly at all, Mila peeked over at Berry. The bouncer was already looking at her and raised his brows as if to say: "See? I toldja."

Was she reading into this all wrong? She had to be. Mila didn't have crushes anymore. She didn't do relationships anymore either. That line of thought was just a recipe for disaster. As earlier with Jacob had proved. For some reason the thought made her downright moody. Frowning, Mila grabbed her new drink and downed half of it before coming up for air again. Baylee was looking at her strangely, but she paid it no mind.

"So, where were we before all of–" Mila gestured vaguely to her lip and shoulder, encompassing Baylee's bruised knuckles in the mix as well. "–this?"

"You were about to say somethin' about languages, I think," he said, picking up an empty cup someone had left on the bar and bringing it over to the sink. He found talking to her a lot easier if he had a task to do as he spoke. He was running out of those tasks, however, since people were beginning to trickle out of the bar. It was around 1, 2 in the morning, the time that the younger patrons left with their hook-ups in arm and the elder ones left to go to sleep. The only people that were left were the hardcore drinkers, the kind that Berry would have to force out when the bar closed.

"You need help cleanin' up when the night's over?" he asked, gesturing to the stage and her equipment. Was it an excuse to continue talking to her after they closed shop?….Yeah.

"Would you mind? I know you have your own closing up to do, but I'd appreciate the help with the heavy stuff…" It was only two amps–ones that she could easily carry to the back storage herself and she was pretty sure Baylee knew that–but he had offered right? There's no harm in helping each other out. Besides it's not like she couldn't reciprocate and help close up the bar area. Damn she was good at making excuses wasn't she? Didn't Mila just decide that she didn't do crushes? She chuckled under her breath as she raised her glass to her lips again.

Mila placed the makeshift icepack back on the bar. Her shoulder was pretty numb now, and although it still twinged, she could move it without wanting to cry. The pack had left a wet spot on her dark tshirt though, one she looked at with dismay as a chill passed through her. Well no use getting upset about that. "Anyway! Right. Vietnamese. You'll have to teach me." She waited until he looked up in surprise to give him that same smirky grin again.

"Vietnamese is a very complex language," he said, raising an eyebrow at her demand. "Especially for someone that has spoken English for most of their lives. You'll have to actually stay around for a bit, which, from what I've heard, isn't something you like to do."

A middle age man walked up to the bar, steady on his feet despite the 3 cups resting at his table already. His eyes were large and sad, almost like a puppy's.

"'Nother Guinness," he mumbled, placing down a 20 dollar bill next to the empty cup. "This'll be my last one."

Baylee grabbed the cup, choosing to refill it instead of giving him a fourth glass.

"You stay home for a bit, Bill," he said softly, sliding the beer over. Baylee's face was a look of pity and concern, despite the man being double his age. "Doin' this ain't gonna help."

"But it will," Bill said in return, tipping his head back and downing the glass in one go. "Have a nice night, Baylee."

"You too."

The grin faltered, and a brief flash of pain passed through Mila's eyes in response to Baylee's statement. He was right of course. Technically, Mila was as flighty as the wind, letting whims taker her from place to place. It was a miracle that she had stayed here for so long. She looked away from her bartender as he helped out the sad gentleman, Bill, running her hand through her hair once more. It was honestly the first time that she felt uncomfortable about being called out regarding her nature.

"Maybe I just have to have a good reason to stick around." She murmured, gaze focused on Bill as he walked back to his table. Mila wasn't entirely sure if she was talking to herself or Baylee. Nonetheless, she finished her drink in an impressive final gulp. "Share a shot with me? It's been one of those nights." She didn't smile now, instead looked wistful and more than a bit sad.

"I can't stand shots," he admitted, turning around and picking out the Johnnie Walker from the alcohol rack. "Shit burns me so bad that I can't speak for hours. I can only have, like, wine or cocktails. Fruity shit. That's the reason why I got so damn good at makin' them."

He uncorked the bottle and pulled out a shot glass, setting it down in front of him. He filled the cup to the brim with the vodka and pushed it over to her end of the bar, somehow not spilling a drop.

"So…" he set his elbows down on the bar and slouched over, much closer to Mila than he would've ever imagined at the beginning of the day. "You're dead serious about learning Vietnamese?"

Baylee's statement pulled a soft chuckle from deep in Mila's chest after she blinked at him in surprise for a couple of seconds to make sure he was telling the truth. When his expression didn't change, her eyebrows shot up, making her eyes look bigger and more doll like. "I wasn't expecting that. Not from a guy that can swing a right hook like that at least."

She was still chuckling as she reached for her shot, raising it in a salute before downing it. She let her breath ease out between her teeth in a sharp sigh, her body giving a little shiver from the alcohol. Copying Baylee's gesture, Mila put her elbow on the bar and plopped her chin into her hand. "Serious as death," She intoned, gaze darting from the glass she was still playing with to his green gaze and back again. "Why do you ask?"

"Jus'…never had anyone interested in it," he admitted, for once not having anything else to do while he talked to her. All of his attention was solely on her, and it…wasn't as awkward as he anticipated. "Most people jus' think I'm an immigrant whenever I start talking in it. An' being a foreigner down here means you get hassled 24/7." He didn't need to provide any proof, either, since he'd just been called a chink not even an hour ago.

"I don't see why not." Mila said softly. Christ he eyes were right there–his face was right there, just staring at her in a way that made her stomach do summersaults. It wasn't even that he was giving her 'eyes', or what not, it was just that all his attention was on every word she said, as if this little conversation was the most important one he had had today. That fact made it impossible for her to hold his gaze for very long. "The world is a big place." Mila continued after a moment. "It would be such a shame just to get stuck in one place, one mindset. There's so much out there. To do. To learn. To feel–" She stopped, her hand stilling the glass she was gently spinning on the countertop between them. "Haha–Ah–Don't mind my musings. It's kinda silly."

Berry interrupted the moment by tapping his watch, his nail clicking loudly against the glass covering. He was grinning openly at the two.

"Closing time, lovebirds," he said, getting up from the stool and stretching. "As much as it amuses me to watch you two flirt, I gotta dog to get home to."

Baylee straightened up from the bar's surface, picking up Mila's shot glass and setting it into the sink. There wasn't much to do other than wipe down the bar, which the bartender did when Mila lifted her arms from the bar, and the last of the customers left when Berry said, "Last call, everyone. Time to get home."

"Still need help with the equipment?" Baylee asked, tossing the rags onto the back counter behind the bar, leaving them for the first-shift guy to wash. The thought of asking for her number passed through his mind, but he chose against it. He'll let her do that if she's truly interested in him.

Mila wasn't a hundred percent sure if she should thank Berry profusely or throttle him for interrupting the conversation she and Baylee were having. Instead of getting violent, her face turned tomato red and she spun off her stool, stomping over to clean up her mess of equipment without a word. She worked quickly, efficiently tying up her cords and putting them back into her worn duffle with practiced ease. Was she intentionally leaving her amps for last while Baylee finished up at the bar? No.

Maybe.

She was just zipping up her bag when Baylee's question sounded from over her shoulder. "If you don't mind? I usually just throw them in the back…" Mila trailed off as the bartender was already moving, hoisting one of the amps easily in his arms and striding away. Scrambling, she picked up the other and followed him. It was curiously silent as they finished up work, and she wondered idly if her stupid blathering earlier had upset him.

Mila was dillydallying now. Taking all the time in the world to shrug on her jacket and shoulder her bag. It bumped at her hip as she, Berry, and Baylee stepped out the back door, pausing only a moment for Berry to lock up. Then there was another tense moment as they huddled awkwardly under the eave, looking back and forth at each other. "Welp! G'night." Berry said, all smiles as he strode away. Mila watched him, something that felt weirdly like panic squeezing her heart. What did she do now? Baylee was lingering and she had nothing worth while to say. Christ. She toed the ground, pink tint working it's way up her pale olive cheeks. But it was definitely the cold that was causing that, not the growing silence between the two of them.

"Um–Goodnight, Baylee." She finally murmured, moving towards her hatchback not to far away. Why was she hoping that he'd stop her? She shook her head at herself, baffled. It was one thing to be infatuated with the handsome guy, but crushing this hard? Had to be the damn alcohol. Stepping up to the side of her car, Mila fumbled with her keys, her frozen fingers dropping them entirely. "Dammit–ah hell." She had a flat. Or rather, two flats, and slashes all around the rubber. Mila sighed a curse, pushing her hair away from her face and leaning against her car in defeat. This was exactly why she didn't do relationships.

"I'll take you home."

The words surprised even him. Driving someone home that he met only, like, today? That was something he wouldn't have even imagined doing. Not even for someone he knew. Called a cab? Sure. Helped them switch out the tires? Probably only for Berry, but still. But taking them home? He had to be going insane.

Baylee hid his turmoil by walking over to his truck and setting the amp in his hand lightly in the back, in a spot where it wouldn't be tossed around by the car turning. Then he came back and grabbed the other one, setting it in a similar spot.

"Does this shitweed know where you live?" he asked, walking back over to where she sat against the car, staring up at him in amazement. There was a light red tint to his face, but it wasn't from the work, or even the cold. It was from the suggestion he was about to make.

Embarrassment and shame flooded Mila's face. This had to be the worst way to get to know someone. "Unfortunately." She said bitterly, staring at Baylee defiantly, prepared for the judgement that followed the implication that she had just made. It was obvious that she was no 'good Christian girl'. Her life choices were certainly coming to bite her in the ass tonight.

Sighing, Mila unlocked her car and dumped her bag in the front seat. "No need to worry about it. I'll sleep here tonight. Call a tow in the morning, and all that. This isn't my first rodeo." It took her a second to realize what she had said. "Flat tires in the middle of the night I mean–not crazy, tire slashing exes." Mila rubbed her forehead, eyes closing in distress. God, what must he think of her?

Baylee's face showed no reaction. He wasn't raised in a Christian household, so the thought of her having sex before getting married didn't bother him at all. The only thing that he would judge her on was her bad choice in men, but he was fairly certain the Jacob guy wasn't a complete nutcase when they first met.

"No, this isn't a safe place," he insisted, leaning against the side of the car. "Gangs, criminals, robbers, and people that would take complete advantage of finding a girl sleeping in a car by herself. You can have my bed. I'll jus' sleep on the couch. Besides, I already put your shit in my truck."

"Oh no no no–No. I couldn't inconvenience you like that!" Mila shock her head, brows coming down over her eyes in a soft frown. "You deserve to sleep in your own bed, and not worry about all this nonsense." A casual, vague wave of her hand that suggested that she was the nonsense. It was true that he had put her amps in his truck, glancing over at the items in question, they looked oddly at home amongst the rest of his things. Traitorous bastards. "I'm a tough cookie remember?" She added on after a long second of him just staring at her. This time the words come out with zero confidence and petered off into an awkward grin that would have convinced no one.

"Yeah, well, this part of town is where cookies get crumbled. It ain't safe. We'll come back here in the morning an' get some new tires on your car." On cue, a truck with about 5 guys sitting in the bed tolled past, all of them looking intently at the two of them. Baylee glared at them, then turned to Mila. "Gimme a second. Lock your doors while your at it."

The trucked rolled into the parking lot as Baylee pushed off of the small hatchback and walked toward his truck. He began rummaging through the bed just as two of the guys in the back jumped out. They were both skinny and shirtless, despite the cold weather, showing off the countless tattoos they had between them. They approached Baylee with almost evil grins on their face until he found what he was looking for and pointed at the two.

He held the pump-action shotgun at his hip, his face calm and collected as the two looked back at the truck with terrified looks on their face.

"Step the fuck off," Baylee said, cocking the shotgun for dramatic effect.

Needless to say, the two ran back to the truck and jumped back into the bed, the truck itself racing off as fast as the driver could without knocking his friends out of the back.

As soon as the truck zoomed off, Mila was standing next to Baylee, bag at her hip and frowning at the taillights vanishing down the highway. Her car beeped as she locked it. "Alright, alright. I'm coming. You can put the boomstick back where it came from, Rambo." She gave him her cheeky grin, an easy way of showing him that she wasn't the least bit frightened. In fact, her blue gaze glittered a bit too mischievously. A lady, but also an adrenaline junkie it seemed.

Without another word, she breezed over to the passenger seat and climbed in. "Can't blame me for being hesitant," Mila started as she watched Baylee get in as she clicked her belt secure. "Serial killers do love small towns." She said as a way of explanation to his curious look, shrugging nonchalantly.

"There ain't nothin' like that around here," he said, buckling up as well before pulling out his key. There was nothing on the key ring other than the key itself, a reflection of his personality in a way. "The odd gang like the one ya just saw, sure, but most of 'em will run at the sight of Ol' Bess. If not, well….." he trailed off.

Baylee shoved the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine purred to life smoothly, which wasn't what one would expect from something so beat up. "I have a garage, so we can leave the amps and shit in the back."

Mila couldn't help a chuckle. "There could be now." She dragged the last word out for a few seconds and added the effect of 'spooky fingers'–wiggling them like an ominous ghost–to her statement. She was referring to herself of course, but the possibility of her being a serial killer hopping from town to town was so ridiculous that she had to stop to laugh about halfway through her performance. Mila may have been acting a little weird to disguise the fact that she was, very suddenly, quite anxious. "Thank you for this, Baylee." She added softly, looking out the window at the darkness.

"I couldn't jus' leave you out there, búp bê," Baylee said, glancing over at his passenger. Even with the cut on her lip, she was gorgeous. Her eyes were somehow still bright as day in the reflection off of the windshield, and her hair kept its glossy glow even after the night she's had. Christ, how had he not noticed her before?

When she turned and they made eye contact, he realized that he'd been staring. A blush, although a very slight one, rose to his cheeks as he turned back to the road, looking abut as awkward as she'd ever seen him. Which wasn't very.

"I crash on the couch most nights, anyways, so you won't be messin' with my night if you take my bed," he said, referencing the statement she'd made previously. "Which is what you'll be doing."

He'd been keeping an eye on her just incase she was serious about attacking him. That's why he'd been staring at her. Not for any other reason. Of course not. Why would he? Mila was effectively a stray kitten that he'd scooped up out of pity. It would have been nice to think that he was looking at her because he thought she was pretty. Nice indeed. Mila bit her lip as she looked away, cringing harshly against the pain it caused. She raised her hand to her lips to make sure she wasn't bleeding again just as he spoke.

"I will do no such thing! Honestly, Baylee. You're doing so much for me already." Mila shifted in her seat, so she was facing him more. Her features sliding into a full pout. "I'll be okay on your couch. Seriously. I would feel so bad." She should have stayed at her car, but the thrill of seeing him protect her as he'd done had put her heart first while her brain sputtered. But now? Ugh–no way was she going to mooch him out of his own bed.

"You are my guest, and you will sleep in my bed just as everyone else has," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument. It was a tone he reserved for people who had drank too much that night and were attempting to buy more, but she was being so damn stubborn that he figured that was the only way she'd listen. The double meaning in his words was lost by his frustration. "Is it this hard for everyone to be nice to you, or is this something you've reserved just for me?"

"N–nice??" Mila sputtered, all her bravado dying out in a split second. He sounded so stern and to be honest with herself, she saw no way in which she was going to win this. Baylee was fully capable of picking her up and tossing her onto his bed, if that's what it took. She tugged on the end of her braid, opening and closing her mouth as she tried to figure out what to say. 'Thank you.' didn't seem like enough. "I'm not used to people taking care of me. Or being nice." Mila finally said, her voice cracking lightly with the honesty.

"Maybe you jus' don't let 'em," he said, turning his blinker on and turning into a neighborhood. It was a small, clam-looking place, with simple one-story homes with garages. The streets were surprisingly clean, as well. "All that silly 'tough cookie' shit you talk about makes it seem like you never want any." Was he being a bit harsh? Maybe. But he was nothing but honest.

He turned into the 5th driveway on the right-hand side, driving right up to the door of the garage and parking. After unbuckling, he climbed out of the car and pulled out another key, this one much smaller. He inserted it into the handle of the garage, twisting it and pushing the garage door open at the same time, slipping the key out of the lock in one smooth motion.

"It's alright to accept help when you need it," he said, slipping back into the driver's seat and shutting the door. Hypocritical? To a T.

(Ack, don't respond. I pressed enter too early)

(Okay, respond now)

"I'm here aren't I?" Mila said as Baylee pulled them into the garage, sounding much, much more vulnerable than she intended. Which made her a little angry. She wasn't some little girl to 'save'. She could handle herself, no matter how much her tough cookie routine annoyed him. "It's not that I don't let them. It's that no one's ever willingly signed up for the job." Too much. Too much information. Shut your mouth, woman. And she did, thoroughly biting her lip again. *That * was a can of worms that did not need to be opened. Ever.

Instead of waiting for Baylee to respond, Mila slid out of his truck and shut the door, moving slightly to the side so he wouldn't see her leaning up against it. Somehow she could still feel his eyes studying her. "Stupid." She muttered to herself. She took a deep breath, the musty garage smell making her nose tickle. A sneeze threatened and she covered her mouth as she moved back towards the front of the truck. Her warmth breath eased the frosty bit of the night air.