our holy father, who art in heaven

he didn’t go out on the town most nights; he knew some people during his studies that really hit the bottle and the dancefloor in equal measure, but he was a newcomer here and had to be conscious of that. still, someone at claddagh suggested he go to the auction night at the coyote ugly saloon, and he thought: why not?

it took him a moment to get to the bar. for one: the crush of bodies was intense and the girls dancing on the bar threw him for a loop. as modern as he wanted to be, he wasn’t this modern. 

“oh, apologies,” he said as he bumped into someone. “let me-- let me get you a new drink.”

Charlotte had been cleaning up some glasses when he approached the bar. She had only been working there for about a month, but she was sure she hadn’t seen him before. Shrugging a shoulder, she continued to dry glasses as she replied, “That depends on what you like.” It was still so strange… working. “Are you more into spirits, or beer? Maybe cocktails?” She liked making cocktails. It was almost kind of fun.

he let out a hiss of air at cocktails. “i’m a traditionalist, so no cocktails, but i’m trying to buck the stereotypes, you know,” he said with  mirth in his voice. “whisky for an irishman? passé, as the wee ones call it. so for a whisky man such as myself, what would you recommend?”

    a snort fell from the mans lips, mostly to the ‘god isn’t watching’ comment. he wasn’t wrong, god had left claddagh and him a long time ago. xander truly thought he’d seen it all, fucking heard it all - until now that was.  the man took in a deep breath, light chuckle falling from his lips before turning around and grabbing a makers mark, pouring it in the glass and placing it in front of him. “on the house er -… what the fuck do i call you then?” 

“darcy,” he said with an extended hand. “or father rafferty if you’re feeling formal. just started work at the church down the road. cheers.” he took the glass from the bar and sipped from it. “youse get a lot of irish patrons here in nashville?”

“What, God got you hittin’ the bottle like the rest of us, Father?” 

“––Jameson’s probably your best shot. Get friendly with the bartenders, though, ‘n they might let you have a taste of that bottle of Redbreast they got.”

he snickered and ducked his head a little. “god’s not the cause, but if he is making you hit the bottle, i have a number of programs i can recommend. i’ll take your advice, though. which bartender do i need to cozy up to?”

   “here in a bar, really? okay, okay, if that’s what you want but first, you should note, good father,” her tone filled with sarcasm and tease, “that i like to be spanked, so that penance would do me nooo good.” the smirk stayed on her face, hiding the fact that she wanted to burst out laughing. “well, golly, where should i start?” she mused, a feigned frown taking the place of the smirk. “i’ve sinned so bad. committed so many atrocities. sex outside of marriage.  the women?  the men. oh my god. the times i’ve shouted HIS name in vein…i - ” the brunette bit down on her cheek before finally allowing a laugh to fall from her lips, hand extended out. “sonny. and you’re right, you probably won’t find me in a church.” 

The rest of them had insisted on hitting Claddagh after the session was over, and Billie hadn’t been hard to ask – but she’d settled by the bar instead of the pool table, bolo tie like a choker around her neck as she sat there, silently counting the beats of the song that played from the speakers. Habit. 4/4, but the fills made sure it didn’t sound boring, drumsticks rattling over the skins with purpose.

She’d been half-lost in it; almost hadn’t noticed the man that stepped up beside her – but then she’d caught a glimpse of his outfit. More specifically, the collar he wore. It had been hard, after that, to not notice him.

The bartender didn’t hear him – but Billie did.

“Depends on what you like,” she said, turning in her chair to face him – her in her white dress and cowboy boots, him in his leather jacket, neither of them from around here.

“You a liquor or beer kinda guy?”

darcy lifts a heavy head to look at her. he wasn’t one for frivolity and he’d had a rather long day. “looking at my mode of dress and hearing my accent, how could you think it’s anything but liquor?” he said gruffly.

  watching  as  the  man (er- pastor? preacher?)  walked  in,  xander  couldn’t  help  the  smirk  that  was  forming  on  his  face.  fucking  a,  did  he  love  nashville.  throwing  the  bar towel  over  his  shoulder,  the  man  placed  his  hands  on  the  bar,  his  head  turning  slightly  as  glaced  over  their  liquor  collection.    “we  have  makers  mark  whiskey..  i  could  give  that  to  you  either  rocks  or  neat.  that would depend on you...father.”  the  man  shrugged, he wasn’t one to go fucking kneel by an alter, kneel in front of anything that wasn’t two legs spread so he wasn’t entirely sure what the hell to call the guy in front of him, they all dressed the fucking same but did they all drink the same? his guess was not at fucking all. “welcome to claddagh…i’m xander.” 

darcy scoffed. “please, don’t call me father. i didn’t have the time to change out of this clown costume, but i’m off the clock. god isn’t watching.” he grimaced, and looked up at alexander as she scanned the bar. “i’ll take the maker’s mark for now, it’ll have to do. the bishop frowns on drinking to excess, but maybe i can have some real whisky imported or some shite like that.”

   “from  here?  shit.”  she  replied  with  a  shrug, an  innocent  smile  on  her  lips  as  she  sat  right  beside him, eyes  then   scanning  the  liquor counter,  her  whole  body  leaning forward,  ass  hanging off  the  chair  as  her  eyes  narrowed down  on  the  liquor  brands that  decorated  the  bar.  “but  alcohol  is  alcohol  and  i’m  the  type  to  drink  jameson straight….”  she  finished,  sitting  back  down  on  the  chair  and  turning towards  the  bartender who  was  waiting for  their  order  and  with  a  nod,  confirming that yes, they heard right and  jameson straight was what  she  wanted.  the brunette then turned to darcy, giving him a look over,  a cheeky grin on her lips.   “forgive  me  father for  i  have  sinned,  it  has  been…years..  since  my  last  confession. did  halloween  come  early  or  should  i  prepare  for  my  penance now?”  

darcy tried to refrain from smiling, but one crept up nonetheless. “if i had a dime or every time i heard that one...” he turned to look at her and she was shockingly gorgeous; for prettier than any parishioner he’d ever hope to have. “it’s unlikely you’ll be at church this sunday, i’m figuring, but might as well--” she shifted in his seat to face her. “what is it you’d like to confess, my child?”

she knew he wasn’t speaking to her, but when had that ever stopped shiloh? she’d never been the type to sit back and admire from afar– no, when she saw something she liked, she went for it.. and this tall drink of water she’d been eyeing across the bar? well, after a long day at work, he looked better than she could have ever imagined she’d fine in this dump. she threw back what was left of her drink, before she sauntered right on over, her hips swaying from side to side as she moved with the grace of the ex-dancer she was. as she slid into the empty spot beside the man at the counter, she smiled sweetly towards him. “i’m ever so sorry to interrupt but i simply couldn’t help myself.” shi leaned against the bar counter. “if you’re lookin’ for a recommendation, may i suggest the bar across the street? it’s a much classier joint, i could show ‘ya the way if you’d like. i was just headin’ over there myself.”

darcy chuckled lightly to himself and looked from the bartender to the woman next to him. “now, i’d like to ask you a question.” he gestured to himself. “do you think the irish fellow is at an irish bar just for the feckin hell of it? because it’s a good bar? because i enjoy it? nah, come off it. unless the other place is also irish, i’m fine sitting right here.”

open: to all

darcy hadn’t been in nashville long: the diocese had set him up with an apartment a bit aways from the church and he was thankful for the help they had given him, but nashville was a unique animal in its own right. everything seemed both new and old, and building were spread in such a vast array. he wondered if he needed a car while he was here, but he truly didn’t know how long he’d be preaching to the good people of tennessee. 

“what would you recommend?” he asked the bartender. claddagh was a block or two away from his tiny abode and it looked aggressively irish, which put his mind at ease.