#irishmxn

      “you’re insane! i can’t believe you, finn!” was the furious hiss from the brunette after being tricked into  coming here. it was a gig. he had dragged her into this after she had specifically told him that she didn’t want to and couldn’t do this. fingers were already tugging at her hair as stomach churned in protest to the sudden change of evening plans. 

“Oh, you’re welcome, m’sieur.” Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw what appeared to lyrics to some song scrawled over the yellowed paper. She paid little attention to it as it could have been something personal. A little startled when he took the paper from her hands, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat, not knowing what to do with her hands. Moving from France to Ireland was a big transition; everything was different. Surrounding her were unfamiliar street corners and strangers that she might have never passed.

“I don’t think most people expect to fall on someone.” A soft chuckle passes the Irishman’s lips as he loosens his grip on the woman who’s all but collapsed on him. “You alright?”

@irishmxn

Llewyn would be one of the first people to admit that he’s not a fan of most of his contemporaries. Their vocals are too nasally, their attempts at music too auto-tuned and fake, the beat and the bass of their ‘songs’ too booming to even understand the lyrics. To put it succinctly, if music is meant to be an expression of the soul––and he thinks it is––it’s like the majority of them had sold theirs to the devil in exchange for being able to hypnotize the masses and make their fortunes.

He’s never been into that. Can’t respect it. Can’t respect the ones who do it. In the end, of all the current artists that he hears on the radio, he can probably count maybe twenty across several different genres whose music and talent he can at least appreciate. 

The number he is a fan of is almost negligible.

So, when he’d heard that one of those select few would be performing at a local venue and that a second artist was being sought to fill out the event, he had mentioned it to manager and to his booking agent who had done some careful asking around, discreetly showing that there might be interest. Lo and behold, barely a day later, they’d received a phone call and the gig was booked.

This is what had brought him to be standing here in a warm-up area of sorts backstage, handle of his guitar case in hand (because that he has a few people to help him now doesn’t change the fact that this guitar stays with him, his constant). 

He breathes in the stillness, the quiet. 

This is one of the rooms meant for the artist (or artists) to warm up before the soundcheck, when he’d go out on stage with the venue’s house band, run through a few tests and make sure everything is running smoothly before the actual show tonight. Llewyn had practiced with the band several times this week already––though not once crossing paths with the other artist who would be performing––and he has no doubt that everything will go smoothly.