Chapter Text
It was just another Saturday night at the Dark Forest, when she walked in for the first time.
Founded in 1975, Dark Forest had been a staple of city nightlife for generations. It was family-owned and run, with the sisters who’d opened it still bar tending, on select nights. The exact makeup of their signature drink, the Love Potion, was such a closely-guarded secret, only two people knew how to make it, Plum, and her daughter, Mettilda. After attendance slowed in the mid-90s, the second sister, Griselda, had suggested that they spice up weekends by putting in a karaoke machine, making them the owners of the first karaoke bar in the city. It was an instant success.
Twenty years later, their children were running the bar, and cursing their mothers nightly for their lack of insight. Because running a karaoke bar goes from fun to downright painful when only the slightest percentage of your patronage can actually sing.
Bog leaned against the bar, watching the parade of mediocrity as it went by. Mettilda had decided to take the night off, which meant that he could actuallyenforce a few of his favorite rules, for once. No Journey, no Bohemian Rhapsody, and only one ironic performance of a Weird Al song a night. It was hard to enforce, as the machine was activated manually, by number code selections these days, but being almost seven feet tall certainly helped to convince people.
His only consolation was that at least they kept their song list updated, which meant he only had to hear the old standards five or six times a week.
As usual, the crowd began to thin out around nine. Dark Forest, with its inexpensive drinks and easy atmosphere, was a staple of the pre-clubbing scene. People would arrive around seven, hang out until the rowdier clubs really got going, and then leave, not to be seen again until the next weekend. It was a shame that the majority of their traffic these days treated them as a stop in the journey to their true destination, but at least it kept the drunken singing to a minimum.
"ID." He said tiredly to the trio that approached the bar. The brunette at the forefront gestured back at her friends.
"They’re not drinking, they’re underage." Bog sighed, holding out his hand.
"I still need to see their IDs. This is a bar, missy, and even if they’re not drinking, if they’re under eighteen, they’ll need to leave. The blonde looks sixteen." To be fair, the brunette didn’t look more than twenty, and that was with her violent eye makeup. Bristling, she shoved her driver’s license into his hand.
Marianne Fairwood, date of birth…he did the math in his head. Twenty four? Amazing. She’d be handing her ID out to guys like him for the rest of her life.
The blonde and her short companion also handed over licenses. Dawn Fairwood, nineteen. Sunny Davis, twenty. He raised a brow at that last one, but the young man refused to flinch, so he just let him go.
"And you’ll be having?" The blonde, Dawn, had her hands flat on the bar in seconds.
"I’ll take a pink lemonade?" She asked, voice almost unnaturally sweet. He suppressed a shudder.
"And I will be leaving the vodka out of it." Bog replied, and her face fell into a pout. He winced. Pouting women tended to get their way around him, and he could never figure out why. "Nice try, though." That made her all smiles again, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Perky girls he could brush off. Sunny ordered a soda, and then it was just the brunette. Marianne.
Who was studying the shelves behind him like they were planning on attacking her.
Bog cleared his throat, and she jumped. “What can I get you?” Behind them, the door opened. Marianne glanced backwards, then groaned.
"Just shoot me."
His eyebrows shot to his hairline. A Just Shoot Me shot contained three different kinds of whiskey, tequila, rum, and Jägermeister. It was incredibly potent, and would probably floor a woman her size within seconds. “Ah, did you mean the shot, or were you asking me to actually shoot you? Because you’d stand a better chance of surviving if I actually shot you.”
And then, he heard it. The most obnoxious sound imaginable.
"Marianne? Is that you, darlin’?"
Drama.
The way her shoulders hunched in on themselves told him his latest customer wasn’t a friend long before she looked up at him. Her expression was murderous, but her eyes told a different, sadder story.
"I want the shot." I need the shot, was what he heard. Nodding, he got to mixing, and tried not to listen in on their conversation.
"Roland, I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again. To your face, and on every conceivable form of social media. How did you even know I’d be here?!" The man chuckled, and Bog sneered down at the bottle he was holding. Even his laugh was grating.
"I’m still friends with Dawn on Facebook, she posted about y’all coming here."
Marianne shot a sharp glare at her sister, who’d been pouring over the songbook the entire time. Now, her nose nearly touched the pages with barely-repressed embarrassment.
"Aw buttercup," She and Bog both winced at the nickname. "Don’t be mad! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks, just let me explain."
"You cheated on me a week before our wedding.” Marianne grit out, and Bog knew that any chance of him pretending not to eavesdrop was gone.
"Your drink." He said loudly, setting the shot down inches from her hand. He turned to the obnoxious blonde man, and his trio of friends. When had they even entered? "ID."
The ex produced his with a flourish, as did the other men. They were all over twenty-one, but Bog didn’t bother to pay any attention to their names. All he knew was that he wanted them gone as soon as possible.
But having his wishes granted was never something he’d been known for.
The men all ordered beers, paid, and took a seat at a booth midway between the bar and the stage. Meanwhile, Marianne’s shot still sat there untouched as she muttered to herself.
"-cannot believe he’d actually stalk me this is some grade-A bull-“
"Hey now." Bog interrupted, his voice loud enough to carry, and she glared up at him. "If he bothers you directly, I can kick him out. But for now, you’ll simply have to coexist." Lowering his voice, he said, "If you actually take the shot, it’s on the house. If not, I’ve already started a tab for your party." A small smile crossed her face.
"Thanks, but-" This time, the interruption came from a horrible sound that made its way over the sound system.
"I’d like to dedicate this song to my beautiful, wonderful, forgiving fiancee Marianne." He’d obviously Googled ‘songs with Marianne in them’ beforehand, because there was no way in hell a bit of fluff like the ex seemed to be knew music well enough to know a vaguely obscure Four Seasons song from 1967 off the top of his head. Hell, the only reason Bog knew it was because of how obsessed with Frankie Valli his mother was.
Marianne cringed through the botched high notes, from the way he didn’t even seem to realize he was admitting his betrayals, and just generally at the unwanted serenade. When he was done, the ex came back up to the bar.
"Well, baby? Come on, I’m spilling my guts here." Marianne muttered something that sounded like if only, sent a text, then picked up her shot glass.
"To bad decisions." She said, raising it at Bog, but completely ignoring the man behind her. He nodded his head, and she knocked it back. When she didn’t immediately drop to the floor from the combination of six different liquors hitting her at once, he decided that he was allowed to be impressed. At the very least, this girl had guts. She turned to the ex at last.
"That song was shit, and you should feel horrible." The ex was made of stronger stuff than he looked, he didn’t even wince. "You wanna hear what a personalized song sounds like, asshole? Dawn!" Her sister was already punching in the numbers, giving her a thumbs up as the music started.
Marianne didn’t even go up on stage. She didn’t need to. This sort of thing, she didn’t want a microphone. It wasn’t a public declaration, but private. It was personal. And glory be, she already knew all the words. And she was shouting them.
"I’m not here for your entertainment! You don’t really want to mess with me tonight! Just stop and take a second, I was fine before you walked into my life! Cause you know it’s over before it began!" She jabbed the ex in the chest hard enough to send him stumbling backwards. She jabbed him again, then kept pushing until he was out the door. "It’s just you and your hand tonight!" She slammed the door in his face.
She had more than guts, this girl. She had spirit. Against his better judgement, a small part of him began to warm to her.
Dawn sidled up to her sister, who was in the midst of ordering another drink. ”So, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, can I sing now?” Marianne shrugged.
"Until you drop, sis. It was your idea to come.” The younger girl squealed with glee, dashing up to the stage. Bog wondered for a moment exactly what he should be expecting, and then a familiar guitar started. His eye twitched.
"Oh no." Marianne snorted, reaching over to pluck the Harvey Wallbanger from his limp fingers.
"Oh yes. Welcome to the Taylor Swift hell that is my life." Bog’s expression soured.
"You can stay, she’s banned.” Marianne laughed, loud and sincere, and his heart skipped a beat.
Oh no.
Oh, no.