Chapter Text
Grian took a step back from the counter, raising his hands in surrender. The outlaws in front of him grinned, their eyes crinkling above the bandannas covering their faces. They were happy, apparently, at the prospect of robbing a small business blind. Typical.
The honest… well. Not honest. But the normal patrons of Grian's saloon who weren't actively trying to rob him had hidden under the tables or run out of the building, trying to get as far away from the robbers as they could.
The late-afternoon sun streamed through the open doorway, catching on the dust and making the entire room glow with warmth and brightness, outlining the robbers in a halo of light.
It caught on the almost too-polished barrels of the outlaw's pistols, the metal gleaming from where they were levelled at Grian's heart. The reflection of the sunlight made soft spots on the ceiling, distracting and beautiful, making the less human part of Grian's mind want to stop and admire the light. Grian shifted, tucking his wings in a little closer to himself to keep from looking like a threat. He kept his voice smooth and low, his words calm and controlled as he spoke to the robbers in as friendly a tone as he could muster.
"Good day, gentlemen." He nodded toward the street beyond the open door, keeping a pleasant smile on his face. "If you're looking to rob someone, might I suggest you try the bank? Just across the street, make your way a little bit down to the giant building labelled "bank"; you can't miss it." Grian had long ago moved away from trying to keep people from breaking the law and into not really caring, as long as it didn't affect him. He couldn't afford to be robbed right then, so might as well just send these folks along to somewhere else.
The outlaws glanced at each other and Grian took that moment to study the two men in front of him as best as he could, memorising every last snippet that he could of the way they looked, just in case he needed that information later. They were both pretty tall, taller than Grian, but the one on the left seemed to be much lankier and at least a little bit taller, huge yellow wings tucked behind himself, an avian built for speed instead of strength. If Grian had to take one of them in a fight, he'd probably go for that one.
They were both dressed in all black, from their hats to their shirts to their boot laces. Grian tried not to immediately dismiss them for that; the two were so clearly trying to be intimidating that they had somehow, along the way, utterly failed. Nah. These people didn't scare Grian. The scariest outlaws were the ones that weren't dressed like they were trying to look frightening, whether that was messy, worn clothes like any old ranch hand or an obnoxious, perfectly pulled-off suit.
The slightly shorter one had hair the colour of a rusted horseshoe, the other a sandy blond that fell into his eyes. The avian had a scar on one side of his face, barely missing his right eye, and the shorter man had tattoos on his knuckles, little flames that almost seemed to dance in the afternoon light.
Grian sighed. Well, it was going to make whatever fight ensued a good bit more complicated if the man chose to use those, wasn't it? He glanced past the bandits, who had moved back to pointing their pistols straight at Grian's heart, and scanned the saloon for his sister. Gem knew emergency protocol as well as she possibly could without being able to read Grian's mind, and she was nowhere to be seen. The glasses she had been setting out were abandoned on a table, along with the satchel she had gotten out for her visit with Pearl later that day. Grian fought back a smile.
The shorter outlaw cleared his throat, raising his pistol to point right between Grian's eyes. When he spoke, his voice was low and much more gravelly than Grian would have expected from one of two people so clearly trying to be threats. Most of the time people like that weren't more than a few years into adulthood; this man seemed to be mature enough to have figured out how idiotic he and his partner looked. Absolutely ridiculous.
"We aren't here to rob you."
Grian raised his eyebrows, mentally running through the hiding places of all the weapons he'd stashed around the saloon. The closest one to him was the ancient musket he kept underneath the counter, behind the whisky bottles, although the pistol strapped underneath the stool a few feet away from him might be a better choice as far as speed went.
"Pardon my curiosity, but then why are you here? If you wanted to purchase a drink, you really could have just said so." Grian kept his smile blank and innocent, even if he wanted to break down laughing at the hilarious incompetency of the people pointing pistols at him.
The blond avian cleared his throat, reaching up with his free hand and adjusting his hat, his aim over Grian's heart wavering for just a moment, making Grian wish he had grabbed the pistol while he could. Ah well. He did need to pay attention at least somewhat to what the man was saying; Gem would be coming soon enough.
"We're here to take you back with us." He glanced towards his partner, receiving a quick nod in return.
Grian laughed for a short moment before he leaned in just the tiniest bit closer to the outlaws, a practised smile on his face that, if it did its job, would be just sharp enough to be unsettling without looking like a direct threat.
"So soon? Take me on a few dates first, and we'll see what we're working with, hmm?"
The bandit's eyes widened and for a moment Grian thought that he could see the beginnings of a blush creeping up his cheeks from under the bandanna. Perfect. Keep them guessing, never let them get confident. These were the kind of people to shoot on a dare, to let themselves get goaded into acting rashly—the trick was to keep them from being confident enough to do so.
Grian stepped back, keeping his hands raised. The reality was, Grian had a lot of enemies. He didn't really want any of them to kidnap him, although he was pretty certain that he could take both of these idiots in a fight any day of the week.
The bandit with fire tattooed on his knuckles shook his head, taking a piece of paper out of his black leather satchel and sliding it across the counter for Grian to see.
"We're either bringing you back or killing you here. Your choice."
Grian sighed loudly and shook his head, moving to take his apron off. The pistols followed his every movement, but he wasn't terribly worried about that. Grian folded his apron and slipped it under the counter, curling his fingers around the stock of the gun hidden there.
Grian looked up at the ceiling.
"You know, this is a pretty old building. Not very well built, either, but you didn't hear that from me." He winked at the men, then sighed. "Quite annoying. It would be a shame if it collapsed in on itself, don't you agree?"
The outlaws weren't complete idiots. They both immediately looked right up at the ceiling, and Grian could see the exact moment that they both saw the handle of the trapdoor above them.
A lot of things happened, very quickly.
The avian bandit raised his gun toward the ceiling, just as the trapdoor swung down. It smacked into his hands, knocking his gun away, and Grian fell flat to the floor, getting the musket ready to fire.
Gem swung down from the ceiling, red hair like a wreath of fire around her face, and kicked the now-unarmed bandit in the teeth. He stumbled backwards and she dropped to the ground, swinging her legs out to trip the avian's friend to the floor in one smooth motion.
He stumbled and fell, but a moment later they were both up, aiming their pistols right at each other. Gem's hands were steady, and Grian couldn't help but feel a little proud of his sister, even as fear for her safety pounded in his chest.
Grian jumped up from the floor and sighted, firing and sending a bullet whizzing through the hat of the man currently aiming at Gem, just enough to scare him. He cursed and ducked, giving Gem the perfect opportunity to knee him hard in the gut. She grabbed his shoulder with her free hand, shoving the man back and resting the tip of her barrel against his forehead. The fire tattoos on his knuckles burst into flames that wrapped around his hands, but even he had to know he couldn't do anything with her gun against his head.
The blond avian stared at Gem with wide eyes, his face white as a sheet as he saw the gun pressed against his partner's head. He glanced over at Grian and raised his hands, dropping the pistol he had picked up off the floor and taking a step back, his wings tucked closer to himself as he tried to make himself seem like less of a threat.
"Tell her not to shoot."
Grian calmly levelled the musket at the man, watching him squirm as the barrel was aimed straight towards his heart. Grian's voice was steady and utterly merciless.
"Get out of my tavern."
And they ran. Of course they did. Gem moved her pistol away from the outlaw's head, grinning at Grian, and the two men shared a single look before they bolted, leaving their weapons on the dusty wooden floor as they fled.
There was a moment of silence, and then Gem bent down to pick up the two discarded pistols and set them on the counter. Grian rested his musket back in its proper place underneath the counter before straightening, looking Gem in her hazel eyes, red curls falling into his sister's face as she practically glowed with happiness.
Grian couldn't have been more proud.
As the patrons of the tavern slowly began to make their way out from where they had been hiding, trickling out of the saloon, Gem hopped up onto the counter and handed Grian the outlaws' pistols with a grin. She settled her skirts, shifting the layers of fabric before adjusting her bodice and running her hands through her hair, yanking out the tangles there.
Grian looked at her in mild concern after a particularly violent tug, but Gem just gave him a huge grin and kept combing her fingers through her hair. Rusty curls spilled over her shoulders, catching the afternoon light.
Grian gave her a smile in return, letting his wings relax and spread out slightly as he unloaded the two firearms, setting the rounds on the counter next to Gem, one by one. Each one made a slight noise as he set it down, a soft tapping that Grian had heard a few too many times.
"You did brilliantly there; thanks for your help."
Grian wasn't entirely sure exactly how old his sister was, seeing as Gem didn't know, either, but she couldn't be older than nineteen. Nineteen, and she was swinging down from the ceiling and getting ready to shoot criminals in the head, a smile on her face. Grian… didn't know how he felt about that. As much as he didn't want to, he felt a little bit proud.
Gem grinned, picking up one of the rounds and tapping her fingernails against the metal casing as she looked out at the dusty street outside. The outlaws were long, long gone by now, and Grian could only hope that they were never coming back. He glanced down at the piece of paper that they had given him; it had fallen off the counter when Gem had come down from the attic; the thin sheet of worn paper had landed on the ground by Grian's boots, and he kicked it underneath the counter. He could deal with… that later.
Grian watched his sister fiddle with the round and frowned, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the counter as the late afternoon heat made a haze through the tavern.
"Gem, I don't quite like the way you've been… enjoying violence lately." Grian took a deep breath, fixing his gaze on the floor as he refused to meet his sister's eyes. "I know you've been hanging out with that ranch hand a substantial amount lately, and I just don't know...."
Gem rested her hand on top of Grian's and shook her head, an exasperated smile on her face, the tiniest hint of anger in her eyes even as she spoke in her usual cheerful tones.
"Grian, Pearl isn't corrupting me to violence." She laughed and shook her head, hopping down off the counter and grabbing her apron off the table. She slipped it over her head, tied it over her dress, and started clearing off the abandoned glasses from the rough wooden tables. "Besides, you're the one who taught me how to shoot, so don't you dare try to drag my friends into this."
Grian sighed and tucked his wings up close to himself, grabbing a rag and moving to start cleaning up a spilled glass of whisky that someone had knocked off the counter top in their hurry to get away from the situation.
"I don't know if it's good for you. You're young, you have your whole life ahead of you...."
Gem straightened up, giving Grian a flat stare. "G. I'm not going to live here forever, I need to be able to take care of myself. That's why you taught me; you're not too old and decrepit to remember that, are you?" Her voice was teasing, but her meaning came through loud and clear and unintentionally sent a pang of dread through Grian's chest.
Grian froze, the cleaning cloth clenched in his hand as he stared at Gem. She stood tall and confident, the setting sun catching on the feathers mixed in with her hair as she met Grian's gaze. Grian ducked his head, letting out a nervous laugh.
"Well, that's...." Grian took a deep breath. "You know, you don't need to move out before you're ready; sometimes it can be beneficial to be able to take a step back and look at our future, you know? There's nothing wrong with a peaceful life."
Gem's eyebrows raised and she took a step forward, a cocky grin on her face as she pretended to consider what Grian had said. She looked up at the trapdoor, still hanging open, and then to the unloaded pistols still sitting out on the counter next to their rounds.
"Because driving cattle with a handful of other people would be so much less peaceful than serving alcohol in a lawless town that happens to intersect at least three major travel routes. Right."
Grian started to say something, but, well, he couldn't think of anything to say. Gem was far, far safer here with him, even if that meant a few scuffles now and then. Grian could protect her, Grian could get her out of danger, Grian could hurt anyone who tried to touch Gem, but if she was on her own… on her own with Pearl, who had barely been in a single fight, out on the road with bandits and wild animals and not a single person experienced enough to keep Gem safe. But Gem was young. She'd probably change her mind tomorrow and want to move to a city up north or something, and eventually she'd settle down and stay where she belonged.
Grian needed to let Gem be a teenager for a while. She'd figure it out, and everyone Grian had talked to about taking care of siblings and adoption who wasn't a wanted criminal said that it was important to let kids stretch their wings. She'd settle down after a while, see reason and understand just how safe the nest Grian had created for her was.
Gem gathered up a bunch of empty glasses in her arms and carried them over to the bar, setting them down on the counter top and straightening them out a little bit before strapping a knife on underneath her apron and re-lacing her boots. She straightened up and moved towards the door, grabbing her satchel from on top of one of the tables and swinging it over her shoulders as she moved to go.
"I'm going to visit Pearl, she needs help with a fence gate or something, I can't quite remember. I'll be back before curfew, so don't worry about me, okay?"
Grian nodded, silently fussing a little bit with the strap of Gem's satchel, moving it so it wouldn't leave a sore spot on her shoulder. He gave her a smile, moving to say something, but she was already gone. Gem slipped out the door with one last word of farewell, and then Grian was alone.
He sank into a chair by one of the tables, pressing his palm against his forehead and fighting the urge to scream in frustration. Grian took a deep breath, stretching out his wings so they wouldn't get crushed, and stared up at the ceiling, feeling oddly numb. It felt like a thousand thoughts were running through his mind, but the moment he tried to latch onto any one of them it disappeared, flitting away to somewhere else.
Grian could still remember the day he'd stumbled into a town almost identical to this one years ago, his wings bleeding and broken, carrying an unconscious child in his arms. He'd barely even qualified as an adult himself, then, but he'd promised to take care of Gem as best as he could. And he had. Hadn't he?
He'd retired to raise her, kept her safe, given her an education, did as best as he possibly could to parent his sister; maybe he had been a little too gentle, a little too ready to let her run wild, but Gem had grown up headstrong and smart and, well… Grian wouldn't trade her for the world. But he just wished that it wasn't all so difficult. It was all too complicated, there were too many what-ifs and regrets and maybes, and he just needed to accept that things were the way they were and there wasn't anything he could do about it now. Gem would see reason soon enough.
Grian stood up, smoothed out his feathers as best as he could, and straightened his vest. He had that pressure behind his eyes that warned him that his body wanted to cry, but Grian had gotten excellent at ignoring that feeling over the years. He combed his hands through his mussed hair, flattening it down as best as he could. He needed to trim it again; Grian hated the feeling of hair falling into his face, and it was just a pain to take care of when it got longer than a few inches.
He set about putting the saloon to rights before the evening crowd; just because everyone had been scared out after the attempted robbery or whatever didn't mean they wouldn't be coming back later. The workers would be too tired from the day to care, the gamblers would want to play cards regardless, and the travellers wouldn't mind much at all about what had happened here earlier. It was a rough place to live, and people wanted alcohol. Grian could provide that for them.
He clambered up onto a bar stool, spreading his wings out for balance as he re-latched the trapdoor into its proper place. Grian fought to keep from falling off the stool onto the ground, struggling with the latch for a few moments before hopping off the stool and sliding it back in place, the sound of its legs scraping along the wooden floor harsh and grating.
Grian tried to ignore the prickling feeling between his wings, tried to ignore the feeling that something was behind him, tried to ignore the piece of paper that stood out like a gunshot wound in his head. Predictably enough, he failed.
Grian knelt behind the counter, fishing out the paper and unfolding it with trembling hands. Grian wasn't sure what it was going to be, but he glanced around to make sure no one was watching before he flipped it over anyway.
The note was written in a tight, neat hand that seemed almost a little too controlled, like the writer was actively trying to make the writing look neat. It wasn't too long, and it was written on paper that was far nicer than what Grian was able to get shipped out.
Grian read the entire note twice, took a deep breath, and stood up. He clenched his fist, crumpling up the paper, and held onto the counter like if he didn't he was going to collapse. Actually, he was feeling a little bit woozy. Grian shook off that feeling and grabbed a box of matches from where it was tucked under the counter. He struck one of them against the counter top, watching the flame flare to life before setting the note on the counter and dropping the match on top of it, fire quickly spreading across the note as Grian watched, his face pale but his hands steady.
He spent one long moment watching the paper burn, the fire slowly burning itself out of existence as the paper vanished into ash. Grian swept the ash off the counter top into his hand, stepping outside and letting the sun shine down on him for a brief moment as he dusted his hands off onto the wooden sidewalk outside his tavern.
The town wasn't all that busy at this time of the day, what with most of the farmhands being out working and everyone else set on edge from the bandits showing up earlier. Grian gave a quick, awkward wave to the few people who were out and about and quickly ducked back inside, the slightly dimmer, stuffier atmosphere of his tavern calming his mind a little.
Grian made sure all his guns were loaded.
That night the saloon was filled with life, just like it was every evening that time of the year. Grian was behind the counter, serving up drinks to the latest group of rowdy ranchers who had come in, giving everyone a smile as he tried his best to not lose his ever-loving mind while trying to watch the patrons and the door at the same time. Gem hadn't come back yet, and Grian was starting to have a sick feeling in his gut as he waited for her....
Grian slid the people their drinks and took a deep breath, pressing his hands against his forehead and taking a single step back as he thought over his options. Gem was almost never out this late, but she had been annoyed with Grian earlier and maybe she was staying out with Pearl for some reason...
Grian uncorked a bottle and poured someone a drink, taking their coins with a smile and a nod. Five minutes. Five more minutes without Gem, and Grian would get one of the few regulars he trusted to cover him so he could go look for Gem. Most of the people in the saloon were new faces, with people Grian had never met before flowing through the town almost every day, but there were a few people he knew and trusted. Well, at the very least knew.
A stranger leaned against the counter, a sharp grin on his face as he tipped his hat to Grian. Grian nodded back, grabbing a glass and setting it on the table as he waited for the man to tell him what he wanted. The stranger didn't say anything for a long moment, and the back of Grian's neck prickled as he tried not to stare at the stranger's muddy hazel eyes. Something in the way the stranger was looking at him made Grian deeply uncomfortable, like the stranger was sizing him up before starting a fight. No. No, that wasn't it. This stranger didn't look like he was here to start a brawl. His gaze was far too calculating, more like he was staring into Grian's soul and judging his worth.
Grian instinctively took a step back, folding his arms over his chest and tucking his wings up as closely to himself as he could before studying the stranger, making sure he could pick the man out in a crowd. Just in case something went wrong. It was something Grian had trained himself to do long ago, a precautionary measure that had gotten him out of more than a few scrapes.
The man was tall, and strong, with a long brown braid that draped over his shoulder and the marks from old wounds littered across his face, scars that almost looked like old burns with a single thin, white line that had been slashed across the stranger's throat from some old battle. Someone had once told Grian that the scar under his own eye made him look intimidating, which Grian had laughed at. Scars weren't intimidating, or scary; it didn't mean the owners were skilled at fighting, just that they didn't know how to properly dodge. If that theory was correct, this man had to be one of the worst fighters Grian had ever met. The man also had a worn wooden cane with him, leaned up against the counter.
Whatever the man had been looking for, he must have found it. The stranger straightened up, flashed a bright smile at Grian, and ordered his drink. He then proceeded to cradle the glass like it was an injured animal and tuck himself into the darkest, most secluded corner in the saloon, tucking his cane underneath the table. Unfortunately for the stranger's over-developed sense of theatrics, said corner was directly next to the standing piano Grian had bought off a rich family who were moving, and by Grian's estimation in about ten minutes Joel would be tipsy enough to try his hand at playing some old tunes as Lizzie sang along. Lizzie sang like an angel, albeit a slightly intoxicated one, what with the siren blood running through her veins, but Joel's playing… well, maybe he was better at it when he was sober, but Grian had never had the chance to hear that. The stranger was going to have some very clumsy, very loud playing in his ear in a moment, and Grian was a little bit interested to see how the man's obnoxious composure and stupid smirk would hold up under the strain.
There was a crash and Grian jerked his head up, already moving to grab the dagger out of his belt. Gem and Pearl stumbled into the saloon, their shambling steps barely keeping them from tipping over. Grian pursed his lips, frowning. The two women were already stumbling drunk, Gem's head lolling to the side in a way that made her look dangerously close to passing out. She had an empty bottle clutched in one hand, and her skirts were hiked up and tucked into her bodice as she walked with an unsteady, shaky gait.
Grian hurried over to help her, putting one arm under Gem's and helping her and Pearl into the back, ignoring the laughter of the people drinking at the tables. As Grian helped the two women sit down on the hallway floor, he heard the first few measures of a classic drinking song get smashed out of the piano and smiled. Joel was distracting everyone from the women, Grian knew it.
The hallway was small, and cramped, leading from behind the public tavern area to the stairwell that led to the upstairs where Grian and Gem lived. Grian briefly considered trying to help the two women up the stairs, but decided against it. Grian was in over his head. He hadn't expected he'd have to help his drunk sister walk through his saloon with her friend, hadn't expected he'd be taking care of Gem the same way he took care of Joel the few times the man had passed out on Grian's tables.
Pearl slumped against the wall, her head lolling back, her eyes closed like she was asleep. Gem pressed her hands against her forehead, leaning forward and muttering soft curses to herself, her words slurred and almost indecipherable. Grian moved behind her and pushed Gem's curly hair back from her face, tying it in place with a ribbon he kept tied around his wrist for her. Gem groaned in thanks and tilted her head up, giving Grian a dazed grin.
Grian raised his eyebrows and moved to sit in front of Gem, ready to catch her if she started falling. Grian was used to being around drunk people. He was used to helping people stumble their way out of his tavern, used to dealing with people who had gotten a little too deep into their cups, and he kept his voice low and soft as he talked to Gem.
"What happened to you two?"
Gem squinted at him, gesturing vaguely around herself as she looked over at Pearl before staring back at Grian with dull eyes.
"Um… alcohol. Whisky. Straight. A lot of it."
Grian sighed and rubbed his forehead, listening to the raucous sounds of his patrons in the main room and wondering just how long he could leave them unsupervised for before something awful happened.
"What did I tell you about getting drunk?"
Gem squinted at Grian, a frown tugging at her lips as she struggled to remember what he had said to her almost every time she talked about drinking. Grian fought back the disappointment he felt in himself, trying to pay attention to what his sister was saying.
"That I'll regret it tomorrow? Or that alcohol isn't a solution to all life's problems, but neither is water?" Gem's words were slurred and heavy as she looked up at Grian.
Grian sighed and stood up, wincing as his bones popped at the movement. He held his hand out to Gem, watched her stare at it in confusion for a few moments, and then took her hand in his and helped her to her feet. Gem swayed, and Grian reached out to put his hands on her shoulders and steady her.
"Don't get drunk with just one person. You can drink in my saloon and my saloon only, okay? It's too easy to take advantage of someone when they've been drinking, and you need to stay safe. Safe isn't stumbling through town with another teenager."
Gem glared at him and tried to move away from his support, but she stumbled and Grian caught her before she fell and cracked her head open on the wooden floorboards. He helped Gem back to her feet and slung one of her arms over his shoulder, half-carrying his sister up the stairs. It was slow work, broken only by his curses as he shuffled upstairs with Gem almost falling asleep on his shoulder.
Grian settled his sister on her cot, sighed again, and went back to carry Pearl upstairs. He didn't approve of the kid's influence on his little sister, not by a long shot, but that didn't mean he was going to let anyone around Gem's age sleep off whisky in some random hallway right behind a bar.
Once both his sister and her friend were settled upstairs, peacefully asleep, Grian went back to see just how much carnage had occurred while he had been gone. He straightened his apron, preparing to serve as damage control for whatever chaos his rowdy patrons had caused.
He stepped back into the space behind the counter, bolting and latching the door behind him, and took in the scene in front of him. Someone had shoved almost all the tables directly up against the wall, making a much larger open space in the centre of the room. Warm light streamed down from the lamps, and Lizzie was perched up on top of the piano, kicking her legs and belting out a rowdy tune.
As Grian watched, Joel jumped up from the piano, even though Lizzie kept singing right along, and the man grabbed the scarred stranger's hand. Grian choked back a laugh as Joel pulled the brooding man into a dance, ignoring the stranger's protests and the murderous glare he was giving Joel as the stranger fought to pull away. The other patrons began to shout and laugh, and even Lizzie was struggling to keep a straight face. The stranger stumbled and cursed, practically needing to be dragged through the steps of the dance by Joel as he struggled to keep up.
As funny as the stranger's attempts to get free of Joel were, with Joel pulling him back in after every attempted escape, Grian had a tavern rule to enforce and no matter how much Lizzie's siren singing was muddling his head, he couldn't let there be exceptions.
Grian hopped over the counter, his wings flaring out behind him, and pushed his way through the patrons to where Joel and the stranger were dancing. Grian folded his arms and shook his head, trying not to burst out laughing at the sight of the tall, brooding stranger forced to participate in something.
Grian cleared his throat, trying to get Joel's attention.
"Hey! House rule; no dancing unless both parties are willing." Someone groaned loudly and Grian rolled his eyes, pointing to the stranger, who had stumbled away from Joel and pulled out a knife, panting as he tried to catch his breath. Grian chuckled. "Somehow, I don't think he's willing."
Joel laughed and clapped his hand on Grian's shoulder, slipping past him to where Lizzie was still singing her heart out. The stranger collapsed into a chair and buried his head in his hands, to the laughter and jeers of almost everyone around him. Grian frowned a little as the stranger raised his head and took a long breath of air; the man's expression looked almost pained, and Grian was a little worried that Joel had actually managed to hurt the stranger.
Joel dipped down into a low bow in front of the piano, grinning up at his wife as she looked down at him with a smile of her own. Joel straightened, holding out his hand to Lizzie with a maniacal look in his eyes as he shouted over the noise in the tavern.
"Care to dance, milady?"
Lizzie rested her hand in her husband's and hopped down off the piano with a grin, pulling him into a wild dance without any musical backing whatsoever. The other patrons began to stop their feet and clap their hands, and after a few moments Grian gave up and pulled out the violin case from where he kept it tucked into a corner. Screw it, Joel and Lizzie were always playing for everyone else; they deserved some music of their own once in a while.
Grian hopped up onto the counter and tried to tune the fiddle as quietly as he could, getting it tuned up in a few quick, practised moments. He chose to ignore the chorus of cheers as he raised the instrument up to his chin, tucking it in place and beginning to play the cheeriest, fastest tune he knew.
Grian's fiddling sucked. That wasn't him being dramatic or self-deprecating, just honest. He had never been good at playing, but he was good enough at using his old fiddle for lullabies and drinking songs and in his opinion, that was enough. He didn't need it to be good, just bearable. Besides, everyone had been drinking. No one would notice a few off notes, or missed sections, or when his calloused fingers stumbled over the strings.
A bunch of other people started dancing as well, although Joel and Lizzie would always be the wildest. They were just so filled with life, and Grian had to swallow back his jealousy that anyone could be so engaged and present in their own life.
Grian glanced to the side and saw the stranger staring daggers at him. The other man saw Grian looking and his hazel eyes flashed bright blue for a single second before the man turned away. Grian stumbled over the strings, fighting to get control over the song again as the man—the vex in his saloon pointedly refused to look at him.
Grian had made a vex angry, somehow. Oh god, Grian had made a vex angry.
Mentally, Grian ran through his checklist of weapons and emergency protocol. If this went wrong, which it probably would, he'd need to get Gem and Pearl out of the building as soon as possible. He also needed to not panic. He'd had magical beings in his tavern almost every night, just because this man was a much scarier kind than he'd been forced to deal with for years didn't mean Grian wasn't capable of taking care of him. It was just a vex. Just a vex, and this man didn't even look full-blooded. Just a vex, who wasn't even directly trying to tear Grian's throat out at this specific moment.
Who knew, maybe the glowing eye thing was because of Grian's awful attempt at fiddling. Grian didn't know how angry a vex had to be before the inhuman attributes would start to show. He did know that some vexes could pass as humans when they were calm, though, and if that wasn't one of the most terrifying pieces of trivia Grian had ever learned, well, he didn't know what was.
Grian finished the song with one last slightly sharp note, taking a deep breath and trying to still his pounding heart as he kept the bow hovering above the strings. Lizzie called out for another song and Grian rolled his eyes, sliding off the counter and tucking his instrument back into the case. That was plenty for one evening, and besides, fiddling at night was a tradition he and Gem had made together during the slower nights at the tavern, and the wood of his violin felt cold and hard without his sister there.
Lizzie hopped up onto the table next to the piano, ignoring the way her boots almost knocked the vex's glass over, and climbed back up onto the top of the piano as Joel settled himself at the bench in front of it.
Grian didn't know why Lizzie was so set on always singing from her perch on top of the standing piano, but he guessed it had something to do with wanting to be able to jump down and stab people from above. Grian tucked his violin back into the corner, trying not to be annoyed when he remembered the bloodstain that was still soaked into the floorboards from the last time Lizzie had done exactly that.
She glanced down at her husband and Joel gave her a smile and a thumbs-up before he started playing, Lizzie's haunting singing ringing out through the saloon as she managed to make a simple tune sound both eerie and jubilant. Grian shook his head, a soft smile on his face. Sirens. He'd only ever met one, Lizzie; most sirens chose to stay as close to the ocean as possible, but Lizzie had claimed the desert as her terrain, chose dead grass instead of seaweed and sand instead of water and Joel instead of… well, instead of sanity, Grian guessed, but who was he to judge? They had one of the healthiest relationships he had ever seen.
Grian kept making drinks and swapping stories, laughing with his customers and making sure to keep arguments from breaking out, calmly taking each small challenge in stride and trying not to break out laughing at the really stupid disagreements. But alcohol muddled people's minds, and Grian always had to put in an effort to keep things from going too far off the rails. When people had been drinking, they tended to forget little things like logical reasoning and whatnot; that was why Grian had chosen to stay away from it as much as he could after the… accident. Gem didn't need a brother who got angry, she didn't need a brother who avoided his problems by way of a bottle, she didn't need a brother who kept a flask of liquor on his belt. And it had been awful, trying to stop drinking, but something about having a kid sister with curly hair grinning up at you made it a little easier.
Grian thought about Gem, passed out upstairs with one of her friends, and almost let out a bitter laugh. He didn't think that generational alcoholism would work the same with an adopted sibling, but what did he know?
Well. He knew he didn't want that for Gem. He knew they needed to have a talk, and preferably as soon as possible. Grian didn't know where he'd messed up, didn't know if he'd let Gem grow up too headstrong, but he knew he wasn't going to let Gem know what it felt like to have that kind of life.
Grian was going to die, sooner rather than later if that letter had any basis in reality, and he wanted Gem to have a good life once he was gone. He wanted her to settle down, get a steady job, and live a peaceful life that didn't have any danger or adventure besides what was absolutely necessary. He wasn't going to let her get hurt.
As the night dragged on, creeping closer and closer to dawn, people began to trickle out of the tavern, waving to Grian with more or less clumsy movements. The folks gambling on poker packed up and went home, and Lizzie and Joel moved from the piano to a corner, chatting softly to each other over their drinks.
The vex stayed exactly where he was, an empty glass in his hands, and seemed to be very pointedly not staring at Grian. Grian had a brief flicker of annoyance at the man; there was no reason for him to be acting so stupid and mysterious. Eventually, Grian looked up and the man was gone, his empty glass left abandoned on the table. Grian scooped it up and brought it back to the counter, adding it to the collection of glasses he was going to have to clean before the next evening.
Joel helped Lizzie to her feet and they both murmured soft goodbyes to Grian before they slipped out of his tavern, their steps slow but steady. Lizzie and Joel, as crazy as they always acted, actually didn't drink all that much. Definitely not as much as some of the other people who came to Grian's tavern, that was for sure; but they were locals. The travellers were always the people you had to look out for.
Grian wiped down the tables and counters, cleaning up spilled drinks and dirt and unidentifiable substances off the surfaces as best as he could before he moved back and started washing the glasses, cleaning them and putting them back where they belonged. He gathered up the empty bottles, tucking them in the storage room and taking stock of when he'd need to order more. The freight train wasn't coming in for a few weeks, but Grian estimated he'd have about enough to last until then.
Grian didn't go upstairs until the sun had begun to rise over the horizon, when he slipped upstairs and checked on Gem and Pearl before collapsing on the cot in his own room and falling asleep almost instantly.
The ash he had dusted off onto the sidewalk had long since been either blown away or trampled out of existence by people's boots, but that didn't stop Grian's nightmares. Shadows chased his dreams, memories that hunted him down and dug their claws deep into his heart.
Somewhere outside, sheathed in shadow, the vex was scribbling something down in a leather notebook, writing without so much as glancing at the page. His gaze was fixed on the small window that, if you climbed up the side of the building just right, led into Grian's room.