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arahusk · 8 months ago

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Don't Question a Good Thing, Keep Playing That Jazz Characters/Pairing: Alastor/Husk, Niffty Words: 5,892 Ao3: [here] For @radiotrioweek! The trio go out to a jazz lounge. Chaos ensues.

Hands in his pockets, Husk tried to watch where he stepped. Bits of broken glass, a few rusty nails, and old cigarette butts littered the sidewalk, but he swerved around them almost in reflex. He didn’t think such a low run area would be where Alastor would spend his time. Then again, his boss thought feasting on carcasses was high-dining.

But he shouldn’t have worried. Niffty was doing a bang-up job at being the sweeper for tonight.

“Clean, clean, clean! Watch your toes!” She hummed as she got out her broom from one of her many hidden pockets and swept away the glass, the cigarettes, and even some severed fingers (Husk won’t ask about that) from the pathway with fast-paced energy. She was kind enough to do it for Husk and his bare feet, but he knew who she really did it for.

“A jazz lounge all the way here?” Husk asked his boss. He shook his head. “I’ve been around this area before. This place is a dump.”

With Niffty more or less in the lead, Husk was left walking just slightly behind Alastor. His boss seemed to be in a good mood, more or less. But after recently teaming up with the Princess of Hell, Husk supposed it would make anyone feel a little like they were on cloud nine.

Especially so soon after one appeared from their seven-year stint from who knows where.

“Husker, if you know of any good spots for a good wind down, I’d be delighted to hear it!” A little flourish of a twirl with his cane, and once they turned a corner passed an abandoned liquor store, Husk was met with a nondescript door, wedged into the concrete wall, as if the stone were ready to smash it apart. “But you should know that the best spots are always hidden.”

Husk rolled his eyes. “I remember the speakeasies, but prohibition days are a very old memory for me.”

Niffty sweeped and even started mopping, both cleaning tools in each hand, until she bumped against the door. Her eye widened, along with her grin. “Ooo, is there a big mess past here?”

Alastor chuckled, giving the girl a pat on her head. “Perhaps once we’re through with it!”

Husk already had a feeling how this whole outing was about to go.

The sky was a deep red, giving the entire area a gloomy atmosphere reminiscent of old horror films Husk just barely recalled, where only demonic rats with multiple eyes skittered about the ground. Niffty would have pounced for them were it not for Alastor quickly gathering her by the scruff of her neck and promptly putting her down by his side. In the same motion, he used his other hand which held his cane to knock on the door.

A razor-thin eyehole slid open, and with it, a razor-thin glowing eye appeared, pupil dilated so greatly it was like an ink stroke over yellow. “Hey, password? You got it?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” Alastor checked over his nails as if they hadn’t been soaking in blood earlier that day. “I’m an old friend of the proprietor! Why, the slugger has been asking for my patronage to get his lounge going! How’s his wife doing by the way? Last I heard, it’s been a bit of a swing and a miss! But I don’t know what he expected from marrying a gal from Cannibal Town. Decapitation is all the rage there these days!”

The filtered laughter played around him, sounding even more eerie with the alleyway acoustics. The eye behind the door blinked several times.

“... That’s not the password.”

“Of course not! I was just making a little gab! Not to your taste?”

“Listen, freak. No password, no entry! Now go away and take your—” A quick glancing around before they finally found Niffty smiling right beside Alastor. “Your wife and your—” Another glance that then settled on Husk. “...Wait, don’t I know you?”

Husk did a quick catalogue in his mind and hoped to fuck this wasn’t another clown he owed an IOU to. “No.”

“Ha!” Alastor interrupted like a static burst through the speakers. “Very amusing, riveting, actually. But you see…”

Instant darkness, one that only left Husk and Niffty themselves visible, while a mass of writing shadows hovered over the eyehole, where that eye was now so wide it covered the entire opening. Tendrils stabbed right through the wood, and corrupted feed made Husk’s ears lean back in irritation.

“You should have just opened the door.”

While Niffty watched in awe, Husk pressed two fingers near the bridge of his nose. “This again now…?”

The sinner screeched from behind the door and, whether it was instinct or just an odd loyalty to his job, slammed shut the eyehole before what Husk hoped meant the guy was running off. Alastor’s tendrils ripped the door right off the hinges, taking a few stone blocks with it, all while the feedback continued to blare. The door was then tossed like a banana peel behind them, which was then accompanied by what sounded like a highway accident from the nearby road.

With the entrance effectively wrecked, the sinner was cowering to the side of the little room he was in. His own stubs that were supposed to be horns looked weak compared to the array of antlers that Alastor now carried on his head.

“Sorry, chum, but I am in a bit of a rush. You’ve also been quite rude to me and my entourage.” A little creak of his neck to the side, and Alastor swerved past the entrance, limbs elongating, antlers stretching further, a sleep paralysis demon brought to life. “And I haven’t had dinner yet.”

With a whimper, the sinner demon gestured towards the stairs near the back of the room. “The club is there! Just don’t eat me! I didn’t know you were the Radio Demon, okay!?”

And just as quickly, the antlers receded, and Alastor was cracking his neck again a bit to look down at the sinner with his professional grin. “Oh, silly me. Did I forget to introduce myself? I assure you, that was a bit of a faux pas on my part. Thank you for being quite understanding!”

Tucking his cane under his arm, Alastor waved to both Husk and Niffty who still stood outside. “Come on! It’s getting close to the hour!”

“Are we going to see a show!?” Niffty asked in delight, even as her eye roved toward the opening, probably getting an urge to fix it somehow. Husk hesitated. His wings felt iffy, and the sirens in the distance for the vehicular manslaughter Alastor had mindlessly caused was distracting him. But there was no point in remaining alone, so he followed quickly after. He avoided eyes with the sinner who still cowered, skin so pale it almost seemed that his boss had already sucked the life right out of him.

As they all walked downstairs, a gentle shaking through the floor, Husk had to ask his boss then. “Were you really going to eat him if he didn’t open up? Just some random low life? Thought you had higher tastes than that.”

At least when Mimzy isn’t bringing trash to your door for you to clean up.

Alastor chuckled, gazing at Husk from the corner of his eyes. “A little snack now and then does me well, you know.” He moved the cane from his arm, holding the handle in both hands. The vibration felt around them was to a beat, one that Alastor hummed to.

Husk didn’t press further, but the whole thing made him uneasy.

When they eventually made it to another set of doors at the bottom of the stairs, a double-set that looked like it would open inward, it was surprisingly devoid of any guards or bouncers whatsoever. It was also as unassuming as the one above ground, but without being broken to pieces—yet.

Before Husk could even take another step towards it, Alastor whipped out his cane to block his path, inadvertently smacking it just against Husk’s ribs.

“Now, hold on a moment, my friend!”

“Fucking hell that hurt!” Husk pressed a hand against his chest, hissing between his teeth. “What is it?!”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how these things go! Tonight calls for a bit of class. We need to look the part, after all!”

Niffty was already gasping with glee, her little feet stamping the floor as she raised her head up to Alastor. “Ooo, do we get to dress fancy!? Doll me up, Sir!”

“Of course, Niffty. I made sure I came prepared for the both of you!” And with that, Alastor gave a sharp snap of his fingers, sounding as loud as a gunshot within the small enclosed space they were in.

Husk expected nothing much to happen besides a quick color change of his cuffs. The bare minimum, as always. Not like Husk really wanted to bother with such things anymore. He watched the green wisp of magic snake around him, flinching from it slightly. He was always reminded of poison, something that would one day enter his veins and finally snap away at his afterlife.

Niffty was his polar opposite, holding up her hands as she made grabbing motions at the wispy light shouting, “Mine! Mine!” She tried to catch it between her palms like it was a living thing, as if she wanted to squeeze it tight between her fingers. Maybe Alastor noticed, and let the light play around her hands and hair before finally getting to work on her clothes.

Her dress started to billow as the green light changed her wardrobe on the spot. Her maid’s skirt thinned to a flowing red dress, one with small rhinestones embedded in the hem. She was even given accessories such as a fur scarf that nearly enveloped her shoulders, and her head topped with a familiar flapper-style hat, complete with a black feather to adorn it. Of course, Alastor’s taste was predictable.

Niffty was already laughing giddily, chewing at her fur scarf, kneading it between sharp teeth. If she was saying thank you, it was muffled between the scarf and her laughter.

Husk had been so distracted by Niffty’s antics that he barely noticed when his own wardrobe change was done until Alastor’s announcement. “And that takes care of that, Husker! Why, now you’re truly the cat’s meow!”

He was about ready to land a punch at Alastor’s grinning face, chained or not, until when he raised his arm, he noticed it wasn’t just a simple color change.

There was a suit sleeve, clean pressed, and shiny cufflinks near his wrist. He looked down at himself, and saw the suit in full, echoing that of his casino days. His suspender straps were hooked over a buttoned-up shirt, connected to black pants that were made from silk. He wasn’t even bare foot anymore, now wearing expensive leather shoes, looking as if they were spit shined clean.

He was probably speechless for too long, because Niffty scrambled up to him, her eye widening and reflecting the motes of green light that hovered around him still. “Whoa!” She pointed at him like he’d grown a second head. “Fancy cat!”

“Why you looking at me like it’s weird?!”

“Because it is!”

“Now, now, we can all gawk at ourselves later! Time to get this show on the road!”

Alastor was already motioning them both with his cane, and it was then Husk noted Alastor’s own outfit. No matter what, the Radio Demon seemed to prefer his clothes to be somewhat tattered, yet act like it was all expertly tailored. His suit was still a stupidly bright red, though it lost the pinstripes, and had stitches embedded into the spaces around his shoulders. He even cemented his new outfit with a top hat, also sporting those same suspicious stitches, which already made Husk’s chest feel weird just thinking about it.

Once realizing that… he had to check, and so a quick glance up at his own head confirmed it. He made sure to give Alastor the deepest frown, snazzy suit or no. “You’re still making me wear the hat?”

Alastor tipped his own to Husk, grin climbing even higher across his cheeks. “Of course! Looks good on you. And now we can be twinsies!”

“Don’t you say twinsies ever again.”

“Threesies! Look!” Niffty was hopping up and down, pointing to her own. Her hopping got so manic that she practically leapt on Alastor’s shoulders, who held her up with one hand, barely registering the action. She might as well have been an extension of himself. “I love matching clothes with the bad boys…”

Husk sighed. “Fine. So that means whatever we’re here for is more than just beating up heads, is it?” He didn’t think Alastor would make them play dress-up if they were going to ruin it a few minutes later.

Alastor chuckled, but there was that curious glint in his eyes, a little blip in the radio filter that coated every syllable. “My, Husker. Can you not believe that I would just take you both for a night on the town? Especially after all your splendid work as the hotel staff!”

“No,” Husk immediately answered. “Not when I fall asleep at the bar for half the day and Niffty here is getting herself stuck in the vents while letting the roaches roam free.”

“I’m trying!” Niffty countered. “I have a good plan next time! I’m going to bait them with their children… then they’ll know suffering…”

“...Yeah, so, proving my point. We’re fucking shit at our jobs.” Husk stuck his hands in his pockets, though he was careful not to slouch like the usual. It was like being in a suit brought back memories of the high life for him. “So what’s your angle?”

And, for a moment, he was almost sure that Alastor would tell him just then. The smile lost its smugness for a moment, the eyes widening a little to show that he was considering…

Then, Alastor gave another laugh, high-pitched and raucous as he started to walk for the doors. “Husker, you and that little frowny face of yours! Geez! Just live a little! Ha ha!”

As if to finalize it, Alastor went ahead and slapped Husk right across his backside as he passed him by.

Husk yowled and rounded at the demon. “Wh-what are you—WHAT?!”

“Oh come on, now. Don't be such a prude!”

“Prude boy!” Niffty giggled, then poked at Husk’s cheek. She suddenly spoke calmly, with barely concealed glee. “I can fix that for you.”

Husk delicately pushed the maniacal woman’s hand away, watching for a sudden needle to sprout out from her fingers. “You know what, I’m good.”

Once the doors finally opened, Husk was transported to a world of jazzy sound and bright colors. It was almost surreal just how it all crashed into him once they entered the lounge, like a tidal wave of saxophone crescendos and upbeat giggling, along with glasses clinking against each other while the alcohol spilled over. Demons from all around the Pride Ring were here, including hellborns that mingled around sinners with barely a thought, but it was still a sinner demon’s haven all the same. Husk was losing count of just how many different-shaped heads he was seeing, and the amount of eyes or mouths were rare;y the same between each head either.

There was a bar that put his own to shame, and it helped that it didn’t have any grotesque bones and antlers as part of its decor. An array of colorful bottles and glasses lined the shelves, and a quick glance at their labels showed Husk that this was the exceedingly rich stuff—maybe even illegal. Half of these vintages were impossible to get through any normal means, and he was sure whoever managed this place had a sin list a mile long to even get such goods. But his focus on the bar made him almost miss the live stage up front, spotlights focused on a soft jazz band, with trumpets and saxophones, cellos and trumpets, and a singer that breathed fire with every verse they sang, well, it made for quite a performance.

Honestly, a lot of it reminded him of his casino, on one of its good nights. And he had a lot of good nights back in those days.

“Ah, look! Our reserved table is already set up for us! Such good service!”

Husk looked to where Alastor pointed with his cane—a table that was topped over with several drinks, and placed near a half-seat plush couch, made of azure satin. There were several demons seated at that table, immersed in conversation and not knowing what would happen next.

Yeah, this is just routine, Husk thought.

When the three got close, it was only then those demons—two of them being loan sharks, and a third looking to be an eel-like imp from the watery ring that was Envy—finally noticed them at all. “The fuck you bozos want?” spoke one of the sharks, the right side of his hammerhead hitting his partner when he sharply turned.

“Listen, kid. It’ll be easier if you just moved.” Husk flipped a coin between his claws, making sure to show off the little skull engraved on one of its faces. Even down from his prime, he still had a few tricks up his sleeve. “Our little lady ain’t so patient.”

Niffty slammed both of her hands on the table, jostling the drinks. She was already gathering some of them in an unmarked bag, and all while holding a nasty-looking needle between her teeth. “It’s time for a little clean up!”

Still, even with their threats, Husk was sure it was Alastor’s menacing aura behind them, along with the drone of his static and the shadows lengthening across the floors in subtle but discomforting ways that really sealed the deal there.

These demons were at least smarter than the one upstairs, and quickly lifted up from their seats. The hammerhead even made sure to sweep away any crumbs from their appetizers off the plush cushions. “It-It’s on us! We don’t want no trouble!”

“Now that’s a good man!” Alastor said with an optimistic air. But the static droning hadn’t stopped. It seemed to keep going until Husk had to flatten his ears just to take off the pressure.

The demons hightailed it out of there and disappeared into the crowd. And there was their table, all freshly cleaned and ready for them.

“Maybe one of these days you should just actually reserve a fucking table?” Husk made sure to let Alastor seat himself first, right in the middle of that couch. Niffty popped to his left after cleaning up the floor and scrubbing off the stuck gum from underneath the table. “Not like they wouldn’t just do that for you anyway.”

“Now, Husker. Where would the fun be in that?” He swept his arm to the seat next to him, which made Husk annoyed but still took that empty seat. “It’s refreshing to see your skills in action! It reminds me why I hired you.”

“Hired me? That’s what you call it?” Husk groaned and rolled his eyes. He flagged down a waitress immediately. “I need a fucking drink to deal with you.”

“Can I get mine with bleach?” Niffty asked with a waving hand. “I need to scrub these seats! They’re filthy!”

“If our spending money allows it, sure!”

“Can you both just not?”

Then again, maybe Husk underestimated just how refreshing a night out would be like.

The jazz lounge didn’t have games for him to play, and Hell would freeze over before he’d try and play cards with his party, even if it was just for a single cornchip. But a couple of high-end drinks and a fresh cigar that Alastor had somehow included in his suit pockets sweetened the night much more than he anticipated.

Niffty got incredibly wasted though, which made sense for someone less than two feet tall. And yet…

“Niff, are you really on your second cocktail and already hammered?”

With how she could barely keep her head from lolling to the side, that was clearly a yes. She giggled and hiccuped, her hat staying firmly on her head no matter her constant motions (although she’d lost that feather that was attached to it). She was also wrapping her fur scarf completely around herself until she was basically entangling herself.

Of course, Alastor was doing nothing to help, seemingly amused with her antics while he barely sipped at his glass of rye. In fact, he was taking such miniscule sips that Husk wondered if the guy was drinking even a thumbtack’s worth of it.

Husk felt like a babysitter when he stopped Niffty from falling off her seat, cradling her in one palm. “Boss, not that I don’t mind having a night out, but you’ve just been sitting there and saying nothing for the past hour.”

“Hm?” Alastor gave Husk a sideways glance. He had been focused on something Husk just wasn’t seeing apparently, and it had to be more than just the jazz performance that was up there. “Ha! You certainly like to question a good thing!”

Code for how he should keep his yap shut. Husk growled slightly, but he still had another cigar to take the edge off, one he got a chance to light it.

“Fine, fine. But you’re barely even paying attention to Niff here.”

Who was very much still leaning against his hand, now poking at his fingers with her own. “Hehe, I like it when they’re sharp.”

Husk was currently trying to find his lighter, his cigar held between his teeth, until a small spark of flame appeared right in front of his face. He was annoyed at himself for flinching, and seeing Alastor grinning at him while holding that flame in his palm didn’t exactly make him feel better.

That same fire lit up his cigar, and it was almost by reflex for Husk to take a drag before letting the smoke leave through the spaces of his gritted teeth.

Alastor continued to smile, and somehow, from this angle with the soft lighting of the lounge and the music playing in the background, it looked even sharper than before. “It’s sometimes good to be reminded of who you used to be.”

Husk ignored the heat felt underneath his fur, and leaned back enough to get more breathing space once again. “You still know how to give the worst compliments ever!”

“Ha! Even after a reward, you still manage to act like a grumpy kitty.”

Now Alastor was laughing and it was like whatever he had been focusing on, or was on the lookout for, had been completely forgotten. Too busy reveling in Husk’s moods, and seeing her boss laugh, Niffty joined him, her high-pitched tones meshing so well with Alastor’s soft tenor.

No matter what, Husk felt like the butt of a joke that Alastor had already been writing up weeks ago.

“Can you just lay off and do something about Niff here? Any more drinks and she’s gonna blackout.”

“Well, you’re a professional in that department so I’m sure she’ll have a lot to learn from you!” Alastor answered with another snicker, now letting a fingertip curl around the edge of Husk’s ear. Another flinch. Was it his imagination, or was Alastor moving closer to him on the seat?

“Listen, you bastard—”

“Role call!” Niffty shouted suddenly, her little drunken brain finally latching onto the nickname Husk had said a minute ago. She then scrambled up Husk’s arm and went to perch herself right on top of one of his wings, kicking her feet. “I need one of your feathers to replace the one in my hat!”

“At least let me finish my drink!” Husk was looking forlornly at his whiskey glass on the table, half-filled, ice cubes already melting fast. Fending the girl off was already taking his energy.

And all the while, Alastor was leaning his head on his hand, watching both of his minions struggle with each other, even as a few eyes turned to hear what the commotion was about. No surprise, for the Radio Demon loved entertainment in so many ways.

Except, he heard that tell-tale blip of static right next to him. Sharp and intriguing. It even cut through the live jazz, engulfing the sound until it was all Husk was hearing.

And when Husk turned, he saw Alastor looking towards the stage, his eyes a deep red, the shape of dials cranked all the way to the right. The static blipped again, filled with electricity.

Whatever he was seeing, Husk didn’t get a chance to really see for himself. He didn’t even get a chance to look at the stage, because, before he could even know what the fuck was happening, he soon found himself upended—and what that meant was that Alastor was standing up, and was holding Husk by the waist and carrying him over his shoulder.

Hefted up like some sack of grain, Husk was fidgeting, and his wings flapping in surprise. “What the—? Al, are you fucking drunk?! Let go!”

“No, I’m not, my good friend. But you certainly are!” With another quick snap, Husk’s forgotten whiskey glass was back in his hand. “Get a good nip of the dog for what we’ll be doing next!”

“Oo, me! Pick me up too!” Niffty was reaching up her arms towards Alastor, looking ready to grab at the hem of his suit if she didn’t get her way. She was standing up on the table to get more reach.

Alastor had no hesitation. He picked up Niffty by the scruff of her dress, her high heels clicking against each other as she wiggled her legs. It was almost a bit adorable were it not for the fact that she was actively salivating, her own spit getting onto that fur scarf of hers.

It was all in one motion, the way Alastor seemed to just step over most of the crowd that were in the lounge. It was helped by those shadow tendrils of his as they embedded themselves into the floors and walls, knocking aside a few customers’ drinks in his travel. Husk felt like he was being pulled along in a parachute, the wind hitting his face as they were propelled towards the stage and its line-up of wide-eyed, confused performers.

But, for all that was worth, they acted pretty quickly in getting away. Like those other demons, they knew when to leave once the Radio Demon was in sight.

Husk was not-so-gently dumped onto the stage, and it was only by his stupid feline body that he landed on his feet and managed to not spill his drink, which was still clutched in his claws. Alastor was, of course, much more courteous to Niffty, even as she got saliva all over his shoes. It was like a waterfall had originated in her maw, which only slowed down once she was plopped gently near the center of the stage.

“And to think, we almost missed our schedule!” Alastor whirled his cane as he stepped across the stage to a bunch of confused, half-drunk eyes. “But good ol’ Jimmy wouldn’t go over our act on purpose! Isn’t that right, Jimmy?”

He snapped his fingers once more, and a spotlight shone right over one particular demon in the crowd, who had been busy sidling up next to a pretty thing whose long blonde hair was trailing near the floor and her dress tighter than most corsets. Jimmy, in comparison, wasn’t much of a looker himself.

But Husk recognized him all the same. Another Overlord, but one of those small-time ones. Barely worth a dot on the map, and only owned a few territories, but it was probably this jazz lounge more or less, which definitely earned the guy some cash. Maybe even some souls while he was at it.

The demon, looking partly zombified as his form, was sweating bullets. “A-Alastor!? You, uh… when did you get here?”

But Alastor simply ignored him, back to whirling his cane as another spotlight hovered over him. “Now that everything’s back in order, we can show you folks a good show! Husker! Look alive!”

The saxophone that appeared in Husk’s arms was almost half-expected. He held it up with little issue in one hand, while he was still holding onto the whiskey glass in another. Immediately, he downed the whiskey in one gulp.

Niffty, meanwhile, was looking out over the crowd, her eye very wide and her pupil very dilated. She was no longer gushing out saliva, but she did seem to forget how to breathe. That didn’t stop Alastor from manifesting a little microphone stand for her, one suited for precisely her height, and of course in the popular style of the 30’s.

“After all the money and time I gave to dear old Jimmy to create this wonderful establishment, I thought it would be nice to celebrate it!” Alastor gave a final fingersnap to have a grand piano poof into existence, its ivory keys looking as bleached as the bones he’d pick clean. “Especially after all the loans and promises he made, and all the dealings made in secret, and all the little loopholes he believes himself to be so cunning and slick to not get caught in! It’s really been quite something, folks!”

Jimmy looked ready to disintegrate right there and then, because even he must have heard the soft drone of that radio static rise up in treble ever so slightly.

Trying to cut the Radio Demon out of extra deals, extra money, extra anything—well, Husk saw what happened to those who tried to do so with Alastor, and his boss rarely had mercy for Overlords.

None except for Husk, apparently.

Alastor still looked oddly happy as he sauntered on stage towards his piano. “But we can’t keep the audience waiting!” His cane whisked away into the air, and as he sat down, his fingers were already tapping away at the piano keys. The notes were clear and crisp, and his foot moved against the foot pedals with knowing practice. “Time for our big number!”

There was magic in Alastor’s music, Husk had to guess. It was the only reason why he was lifting up the saxophone and actually thought about going along to melody. And Niffty, just by the sharp sounds of those piano keys, had blinked and was back to grinning again. Bolstered by Alastor’s presence, or maybe forgetting there were a bunch of people, had already picked up on what her boss wanted.

Niffty held the mic to her grinning mouth, took a deep breath—and bellowed out her verse.

“HEY BIG SPENDER!”

Husk nearly did a spit take on his own damn spit valve, but held it together to pull off a song that was not at all what Niffty was singing, not that Alastor gave a thought to it.

This was a revenge outing, and Alastor liked such outings to be messy.

Luckily, Husk was too damn drunk to care. And being drunk didn’t dampen his saxophone playing in the slightest.

“Good looking! So refined!” The spotlight wavered on good ol’ Jimmy, all as big sweat patches appeared in his suit, and half of his face was literally falling off to the floor in gross decay. “Say wouldn’t you like to know what’s going on in my mind?!”

“No,” Jimmy said immediately in a small voice.

Alastor played the piano louder and Husk was already playing catch-up to his frenetic pace. But Husk was in his element; dressed in his old suit, buzzed up by whiskey and the cigar smoke that was still settling on his tongue. Hell, he’d play a few more encores after this if that’s what Alastor wanted.

“Let me get right to the point!” Niffty emphasized her song with a flash of one of her needles, stabbing it towards the audience. A few in the front row had already scattered—and maybe Jimmy would have as well, but a suspicious gathering of shadows had rooted him to his seat, making sure he couldn’t move an inch.

“I don’t pop my cork for every bad boy I see… But I could.” Niffty giggled into the mic, looking ready to snap it to pieces with a wicked bite. She still flourished that needle with dangerous energy.

Jimmy was struggling against his binds, shaking as the singing Niffty seemed to move a bit closer—except she was still on stage, and it was Jimmy who was moving closer, aided by those tendrils that acted as his own personal, nightmarish chauffeur. He floated in the air, held up by those shadows like it was nothing.

“Alastor, I’ll pay you, alright?!” Jimmy was squealing desperately. “Just don’t let this bitch get near me.”

“Tsk, now that isn’t how you speak to a lady. What would your wife think?” Alastor’s voice was crackling, the corruption in it devolving with the static while his piano playing stayed fresh.

“I can show you a good time!” Niffty was now leaning towards Jimmy, holding up her mic as she acted as if it was a serenade. But her unhinged smile and widening eye betrayed every chaotic thought in her head. “Let me show you a good time, bad boy!!”

And if the jazz lounge emptied faster by the second, Niffty certainly didn’t mind, and Husk found himself not caring either. As long as he doesn’t mess up the few drinks left. He should have felt more pissed off that this was not the relaxing outing Alastor had originally promised, but again, there was something in Alastor’s playing, despite Niffty screaming out lyrics that he was sure his boss had never heard before.

Again, there was a magic to Alastor that he still had trouble wrapping his head around, but was drawn to each and every time.

“Hey big spendeeerrr!!” Niffty lambasted the verse so hard that the mic was looping in feedback. Jimmy was clearly suffering, being the closest to rambunctious Niffty. “Hey big spendeerrr!!” She jumped onto one of those shadows, brandishing her needle like it was a weapon—and it absolutely was for her. “Spend a little time with me!”

“No, go away!” There was a change of pitch in Jimmy’s tone, a soft glow from where his eyes should have been, but were instead only sockets. “You crazy fucking bitch!”

The piano notes were then suddenly slammed with a harsh, discordant noise. Alastor placed both hands down, standing up as he slowly turned his neck with a harsh crack. The smile on his face had stretched from ear to ear.

Just like that, Jimmy’s own little power display withered instantly.

“After such a reception to our performance, I insist you come onto my radio show!” Alastor said, elongating, fangs widening, and eyes shining with more red than should be possible. “No exceptions!”

Now, if there was a mess afterwards, the jazz lounge and all its pricey accessories smashed to bits, and Niffty laughing along with Alastor as Jimmy screamed, Husk didn’t notice.

The song he was playing was just too good to stop.

#hazbin hotel #husk #alastor #niffty #radiohusk #radio trio #radiotrioweek #radiotrioweek2024 #fanfiction #my fics

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doggirlsotd · 8 months ago

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Today’s dog girl of the day is Mitzi Slugger from Rusty’s real deal baseball!

#dog girls otd #rusty’s real deal baseball #obscure dog girls

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thisurlwasnttakenbutnowitis · 5 months ago

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NEW NINTENDO SYSTEM MEANS IT'S TIME FOR THE SMASH HYPE CYCLE AGAIN BABY!

CRASH BANDICOOT, WALUIGI, MASTER CHIEF, PORKY, FAWFUL, TINGLE, COOKING MAMA, JIBANYAN, MAXWELL, PHOENIX WRIGHT, SHANTAE, SHOVEL KNIGHT, SCORPION, SKULL KID, RING FIT TRAINER, MONOKUMA, HENRY FLEMING, RUSTY SLUGGER, MUSASHI-

#before anyone asks Who the hell is Musashi: from Sushi Striker #smash bros #nintendo switch 2

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jaimemes · 10 months ago

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sometimes i have to take estrella out to battle every once in a while because shes pretty much the only one on my team that actively wants to keep battling still (not sure about slugger yet but we’ll see). and like i dont mind it that much but god i really am rusty as hell,,,, girl help i know only one strategy and it only works so well,,,

#jai posts #pkmn irl

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puppianqueen · 6 months ago

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if the world is against rusty slugger i am against the world

#rusty's real deal baseball #my art

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ratsoh-writes · 6 months ago

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January bdays

Sans

Oak

Red

Rusty

Green

Finn

Ollie

Slugger

Dang I didn’t realize that many were January babies

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greenyvertekins · 2 years ago

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Wow, even Infinite gets a costume before Tails. xD

(Digging the helmet, kinda reminds me of the concept art for him.)

Sonic gets his Classic incarnation, Elf Sonic, Slugger Sonic, Darkspine Sonic, Super Sonic, Sonic the Werehog, Excalibur-Sonic, Lego Sonic, Movie Sonic, Movie Super Sonic and Boscage Maze Sonic.

Amy gets Jingle Belle Amy, All Star Amy, Popstar Amy, Lego Amy, Rusty Rose, Thorn Rose, Paladin Amy and Panda Amy. Knuckles gets Gawain, Movie Knuckles, Dread, Treasure Hunter Knuckles and soon, Mummy Knuckles.

Tails' only alts? Nine, Lego Tails and Movie Tails. No actual theme costumes. Hell, even Whisper and Silver have themed alts! Give the poor boy more alts! He deserves it a hell of a lot more than Surge!

#Verte's asks #opinion #Sonic Forces Speed Battle #Miles Tails Prower

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jencsi · 2 years ago

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But what does it take to raise Julie Finlay?

A whole lot of patience. A cup runneth-over. A cup full of hot coffee or tea that her mother barely gets to touch on busy mornings with a preschooler bouncing around the kitchen, converse shoes tapping on the linoleum floor in repetitive little hyper motions. Her pigtails are swinging with each jump, the straps of her red tote backpack slipping off her small shoulders.

“Be good darling” Karen sends her off to kindergarten with never enough kisses to her cheeks, so soft and warm, her lifeforce incredibly strong at only five years old, letting her go off in the real world a troubling adjustment for the homemaker. But she knows homeschooling is improper, she’ll never make it in the world without education, and her father would throw a fit if she dared suggest it, rustling the newspaper in frustration, or else returning to the book he was buried in, medicine waits for no one.

So a tearful farewell each morning is all Karen can do, selflessly letting go of the tiny child she would rather have attached to her hip, moving about the house, picking up toys one at a time, placing them into storage baskets and trunks, wrapping her in a warm towel after a splash filled bath every night, rubber ducks and squirting toys line the bathtub ledge, Karen narrowly avoids squashing one on the wet tile floor, Julie’s giggling worth the almost accident.

It’s “one more story please?” and a pout. It’s twenty minutes spent brushing tangles out of her hair. It’s scraped knees, band aids in every drawer in the house because accidents happen quite literally everywhere. It’s a broken lamp that earns her a long time out and no dessert after dinner. “That was quite a swing dear,” her husband admired quietly the strength in which their seven year old swung a plastic toy bat which caused the lamp to shatter.That following Sunday, the pair were out in the yard practicing it, shattering one window and a garden statue in the process, haphazardly repaired by a bleak Patrick and a hovering cross armed Karen.

“She’s quite good,” he shrugs off the broken items, focusing instead on the incredible athletics of their daughter.

It’s a torn sign up sheet for summer softball. It’s hot dusty fields, a tangled ponytail, dried mud on white pants Karen can never get clean each wash day. It’s juice boxes, orange slices, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Nice hit slugger! Bring it home! A faux gold figure on a trophy on her bookshelf come August. Falling asleep on the couch late at night with the television on to the baseball game, Patrick has to carry her to bed as the game went into extra innings.

Its “boys are gross” “boys are stupid” “boys can’t beat me at anything” to “do you think he likes me? Should I ask him out for pizza this weekend?” “How should I do my hair?” “This skirt will match that shirt I got for Christmas” “He won’t like it if you win the game next week” “I’m not cheating just to make him like me!” “Why doesn’t he like me the way I am?”

It’s awkward formal dress up photos before prom, before graduation. It's an honor chord and a sports banquet ceremony. Its packing boxes and driving twenty minutes to campus, library books stacked high, notebooks littered on every surface, modern medicine, emergency room care, wound treating basics.

A rusty fire escape, car horns honking, sirens in the distance, a leather jacket, a silver chain necklace, messy bed sheets, his hand running through her hair, a boardwalk, a city street, the Philadelphia police station, a gunshot, blood on her hands, on her clothes, her face, his lifeless form swept away before she can find air again.

A fingerprint lecture, DNA identification to solve crimes and put killers away, she snatches the leaflet and slips into the lecture hall, a live wire ignites in her brain. She returns all her medical books and drops her courses. Her counselor warns her of consequences but she's already in deep. A few more years of school won’t kill her. What happens after we die? Decomposition 101. Bullet trajectory. These drops of blood mean someone walked through it here but splashed it here and dripped it there. Here’s how you can tell.

She spends hours bent over graphics and charts, measuring droplets and angles to the wall, to the floors and ceilings. Her roommate eyes her with confusion as she pretends to stab and shoot, closing her eyes, visualizing blood in all directions. She’s a maniac. She passed with honors.

There’s a beautiful harbor with lots of boats and people everywhere. It rains a lot but that’s okay, I love it, she gushes over the place. Look at the mountains. And they have great coffee and they are rated number two in the country! Well which place is number one? Las Vegas, she makes a face of disgust, but that’s way too hot.

It rains when she moves in. Are you mad at me for getting the job? She asks softly from beside her mother. Its a heavy sigh and a gentle “no darling”. It rains on her first shift. It rains when she has to remove body parts from a barrel of fish, when she maps out blood from a stabbing in an alley. Heavy drops on her cheeks, they cloud her vision. She requires many varieties of rubber boots, waterproof jackets, and plenty of warm socks.

Her father dies on a hot day in June. There’s a violent thunderstorm that night. She fights the urge to run into her parents room to hide away but the noise and heartache overwhelms her. She bolts for the hallway, her mother is waiting for her, they cry together as rain pounds the house, steady, unwavering, just like he was.

She’s in love. He’s a cop. What’s wrong with that? He knows the job, knows you, knows she hates frills and bows and lace but she’ll wear it anyway because she loves him. A rented hall, tuxedos, flowers, one slow dance followed by a dozen wild ones. A stretch limo carries them away into the night with harbor lights twinkling in the distance, the familiar tug boat horns grumble across the water as they kiss and she laughs at the timing. Perfect.

Her mother dies on a cold day in October. She buries her on the east coast with flowers from the west coast like she requested. She sells the house, begrudgingly so, removing every item piece by piece, praying she didn’t miss anything of theirs, of what they were, now long gone. She leaves with a pearl necklace in a velvet box clutched to her chest.

Its shattered dreams, if she had any left at her age. It's a hasty apology, they don’t know each other anymore. Abandonment. A pull out sofa bed in Kerri Torres’ apartment. A rental truck takes half her stuff back home or else into storage. Seminars, she gripes, how boring, how beneath her. She rolls her eyes but agrees in desperation, don’t do that, her mother had warned her years ago, yeah well sorry mom, money talks and people walk.

Which he did, more like waltzed gleefully into the space she rented in Laughlin for these newbies. Of course she had to be lying down on the floor when she viewed his frame hovering over her, jerk. A battle of wills, no, yes, won’t go back there again, it’s not the same, you’re not the same, yes I am, I certainly hope not, didn’t you learn anything in two years, didn’t you? Touche.

Colors pink, blue, yellow and green. Paint smeared on her old jumpsuit, on her face, he fights the urge to wipe the smudges as she’s fake holding a gun on him, irresistible after all this time. You’ll fit right in, it’s the same work as before, enough time has passed.

She's on fire, emotionally at least. The spark has returned to her otherwise dull life. She has friends, a normal job, but it the back of her brain, voices play on shuffle and repeat; be careful, don’t push too much, too far, too hard, be strong, fight, be patient, be good, cry when you need to, recognize when you don’t, give your heart but only when it’s right, stay soft, let people in, be independent, never give someone total control, you know what's right, you always will, you’ll feel it, that’s our girl.

#Julie Finlay #csi crime scene investigation #csi cbs #csi vegas #headcannons #ramblings #I know I've done this before #but I had some more things to add #when I said I could write a thesis on her #I meant it #wish I had this much passion for real life as I do for fictional people #but hey #life #I'd like to think she wasn't a complicated child #but denial is a river indeed #bless her

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foxune · 1 year ago

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Random Trophies of the Day:

Skyloft

Rusty Slugger

Striker Mario

Random Spirit of the Day:

Zapfish

#Trophies of the Day

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julianxreese · 2 years ago

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Daylight // self-para

Julian raised the wooden bat at eye level and inspected the infamous Louisville slugger stamp branded along the barrel with close precision. Even though it had been well past his prime playing baseball in high school, the countless ball games and practices came flooding back. His feet seemed to instinctively know what pose to land, his hands knowing where they should curl around the bat's handle, fingers firmly gripping and knuckles lining up perfectly. Muscle memory at its finest after over a decade.

The batting cages were relatively empty this time of year, ensuring him a prime spot with plenty privacy one could not take for granted. Julian required the distraction anyway, distancing himself from the family, from the faction drama, from the noise constantly bombarding his thoughts. Some people found their distractions elsewhere like reading or a long hike in their favorite park, but his options were limited. Books did nothing but remind the young man of the jealousy he experienced for the characters and their lives far unlike his own. And if rumor mill whispers began spreading as he suspected, especially when Savitri caught a whiff of his alliances, it certainly wasn't the best idea for Julian to be walking the streets so out in the open right now.

God, Savitri, how blissful it has been without the gossip blog churning and the text notifications blowing up the phone of everyone in each faction, tormenting those who became a clout target for their amusement. Julian wasn't an innocent party involved in his fair share of scandal, so it seemed surprising that no secret he kept close ever blasted across the blog's many tantalizing posts. The company he associated with increased any chance that somebody as all knowing as Savitri could place the puzzle pieces together and figure out just how much of an impossible choice he's been forced to make.

The sound of the pitching machine caught Julian's attention just in time to drag him back as it sent a baseball flying towards his direction, giving the male enough of a split second to swing the bat and completely miss it, watching instead as it veered past and smacked straight into the wired fence behind him. Damn, his skills weren't that rusty already, were they? The logical excuses came flooding through Julian's mind, his hands were sweaty, he was out of practice since high school, the sun's glare blinded his purview, nothing but reason. He was a stubborn optimist, but he could play with logic from time to time.

Julian thought fixing the position he stood in solved the problem, even adjusting the grip on the bat might aid the previous mishap. Mistakes happened, no play was perfect, he just knew the talents he possessed never failed on such a rookie fumble. Breathe and focus, sage advice from his old coach. Never take your eye off the ball. He latched onto the moral support, ensuring that was the one thought he would focus on as another baseball ejected toward him. Julian saw it coming with fervor, knowing what he must do and feeling the weight of the bat in his palms, but there was an unusual hesitation the moment he swung, once again missing the trajectory of the ball entirely. He was overthinking this now. Sitting here, imagining his coach or any pair of judgmental eyes watching him fail the second go-around when he was a well-trained baseball player. No...what Julian actually was was a washed up high school has-been varsity jock who risked everything his junior year falling in love with a faction leader's daughter.

He shook the inkling of Morrigan away, knowing what will come of it once he dives too deeply. His life didn't revolve around her, it couldn't, not when she wasn't willing to welcome him back for duty's sake. He could patch the pieces of his heart together and move on if he truly tried, surround himself with good people devoid of corruption for the most part, and find someone who never brought him this much misery. Balancing normalcy and being with Morrigan at once, who the fuck was he kidding? She threatened his younger brother, caused irreparable damage to both Austen and Wyatt's psyche, she made her choice and pushed him away. He made his too, neither weren't at fault. Why bother?

Julian tapped the bat gently against the ground and released a huff of frustration, typically holding an entire city's worth of patience and finding it draining away rather unnervingly quickly. He would hit this one right out of the park, no more thoughts about any Urie or Hedgestone, not even Casey will cloud his concentration. Something was getting to him and burrowing itself into every crevice of his mind. Those negative feelings, the strong emotions, were neatly stored within an imaginary bottle Julian concealed tight by shoving a stopper on the opening, and now...it was starting to leak. The calm and collected almost reached utter depletion, but he cannot allow that to happen. Anger doesn't prosper.

One click of the machine, nothing but the sound of the internal mechanisms spinning the two tires drifted through the crisp autumn air, and leaving a racing heartbeat pounding in the male's ears. Julian readied himself for the pitch as he had for the previous two unsuccessful times, feeling as if he were watching the ball head towards him in slow motion. How strange is it that what he was seeing wasn't actually the ball, but Douglas Urie, the true source of his burning anger etched on the pristine white leather. Morrigan's father treated her as a disposable object unworthy of love, he's the reason why their relationship imploded. He tormented, abused, murdered in power's name. And as the ball came closer, Julian could see...Douglas Urie was laughing at him. At his pain, at Morrigan's agony, certainly at the paranoia in which the foundation of his faction was built upon. Knowing his daughter knew the price of the heavy crown and having no one to trust as a result.

So, Julian swung the baseball bat as hard as he could and as accurately as he could, expecting the satisfying reverberation he anticipated from the ball making contact with the wood, but it never came. The same hesitation swept through him again and left the ball instead whistling past his head before smacking the fence, watching it drop to the cement and slowly roll toward his feet with a dramatic fashion no one would believe had he told them. Julian could do absolutely nothing for a moment except stand in disbelieving silence as the sheer irony dawned on him. The former leader of Hedgestone, alive or dead, had won.

And that was enough to shatter him.

Why can't he just live in a world where he was not forced to give up everything? His happiness, his sanctity, his sanity, placing into question his morality at every turn? A traitor among liars who spent years lying to himself over the fact he knew a faction leader intimately and still found the pathetic desires crawling back to her begging for the torment to end. You don't continue returning when the woman you still loved so clearly chose solitude unless you were an extreme glutton for punishment. It was one thing Julian had that was truly his, their secret, but men throughout history were called fools for wanting what they can never have. Forbidden love tainted by tragedy and a faction steeped by turmoil.

A switch flipped on in the eldest Reese's head that he never dared touch before, an unseen wrath shrouded by a patient demeanor and personal everyday sacrifices, snapped in two. The moment he disregarded the public setting and the self-restraint holding together the cracked edges of who he was, it was finished. The man lifted the bat and suddenly sent it flying into the wire fence, releasing an agonizing roar that carried through the wilting trees surrounding the field. However, he did not stop there. Julian reared back, losing all sense of direction as he slammed the Louisville slugger against the fence over and over and over, ignoring the ear-splitting clanging as wood collided with metal. It was as if the outrage traveled along his arm and cascaded through the makeshift weapon, a metaphorical extension of the anguish pouring from his inner core. This...this was no longer a batting cage, it was his cage, imprisoning him to a dark fate and he couldn't breathe. He needed out and he needed an escape now.

Each time the baseball bat collided with the barrier, again and again, the piercing thoughts rattled against the dark-haired male's skull like a pinball machine. What would his life beyond the faction be if he left Hedgestone behind for good in search of levity, if he abandoned Morrigan and any failing pursuit not worth signing away his whole existence? He could take the offer Judas lay before him, cross the border, and never face the woman who held his heart in her hand ever again. What he would not give for the luxury of a new life, something different to renew all lost hope. Those are the saccharine dreams of the optimism. There is no escaping who he was or the choices he made, not even Judas Langley could play the savior.

Julian couldn't recall how many throws he swung, but by the moment that bat loosened from his grasp and clattered to the concrete, he directed one last assault against the enclosure with the palm of his hand. "Fuck!" Shouting explicitly, he turned around and created distance between him and the wall towering over on all four sides. His chest heaved, his arms ached, and his entire body screamed exhaustion. Shit, he was so fucking tired of being alone fighting a losing battle nobody would ever understand in their lifetime. Alone. Morrigan didn't need him when she owned a faction, Casey would rather stay with Judas than spend another minute with his own idiot brother who pined after his secret high school girlfriend that was seconds from shoving him out the nearest exit because her faction came first. His parents, loving as they might be, dismissed the truth concealed by niceties. Even they were blinded by the pedestal they threw him on.

Julian's gaze scanned the invisible destruction he caused around him, at least grateful he didn't smash the pitching machine. What would an average person walking by the batting cage come upon if they saw him now, a bad-tempered hothead with steam pouring from his ears or a plea for help that required ignorance when he wasn't their problem to solve? His curly locks were a disheveled mess and several spots on his tee shirt dripped with patches of sweat. He looked disastrous, drained of all emotion and spark, like a hurricane wreaked havoc on all that is Julian Reese.

He reached for his jacket, uncertain of where he would go from here. Not home, not with those who pretended to be his friends, and there is no way in hell he'd end up at Morrigan's door appearing like a walking calamity. He would run from this mess that he is, no, he would be running from the daylight. If he couldn't set himself free from the length of rope tethering him to his doom, if Judas' promise could not hold, then...Julian saw darkness in the distance.

There was only one place he could go.

#self para: daylight

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celtfather · 2 years ago

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Foxhunter Dance a Jig #628

Dance a jig with the Foxhunter Jig on the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast #628.

Nathan Gourley and Laura Feddersen, Across The Pond, Cantrip, Ben Doran, Jiggy, Socks in the Frying Pan, La Nef and Chor Leoni, SeeD, Iain MacHarg, Meerrant, Slugger's Rule, Mary - Grace Autumn Lee, The Chivalrous Crickets, Old Blind Dogs, Telenn Tri

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VOTE IN THE CELTIC TOP 20 FOR 2023

This is our way of finding the best songs and artists each year. You can vote for as many songs and tunes that inspire you in each episode. Your vote helps me create next year's Best Celtic music of 2023 episode. Vote Now!

You can also follow our playlists on Spotify and YouTube. These feature the top songs two weeks after the polls open. It also makes it easier for you to add these artists to your own playlists.

THIS WEEK IN CELTIC MUSIC

0:02 - Intro: Dylan of Lynnvander Studios

0:18 - Nathan Gourley and Laura Feddersen "Kitty Got a Clinking Coming From the Fair / Flowers of Red Mill / The Strawberry Blossom" from Brightly or Darkly

3:23 - WELCOME

4:42 - Across The Pond "Another Jig Will Do / Foxhunter's" from Little Beggarman

8:32 - Cantrip "October Song" from Undark

13:53 - Ben Doran "A Stroll, Imagined" from Ceol an Chroi II

17:06 - Jiggy "Willie Taylor" from Single

20:49 - FEEDBACK

27:13 - Socks in the Frying Pan "The Invasion: The Rusty Bike / McFadden's Handsome Daughter / By a While" from Return of the Giant Sock Monsters from Outer Space

31:31 - La Nef and Chor Leoni "Go To Sea No More" from Shanties! LIVE

34:55 - SeeD "Kwikstaart" from FAE

38:33 - Iain MacHarg "I Hae A Wife O My Ain" from Ceòl Na Beinne Music of the Mountain

43:11 - Meerrant "Valse Désoubliée" from Fells

47:55 - THANKS

50:00 - Slugger's Rule 'Roddy McCorley" from Greatest Hits: Volume II

52:46 - Mary - Grace Autumn Lee "Color's/Dance" from Eyre

55:35 - The Chivalrous Crickets "Sassafras Bay" from Pavorreal Sessions

1:00:16 - Old Blind Dogs "Wild Mountainside" from Knucklehead Circus

1:04:51 - CLOSING

1:05:54 - Telenn Tri "Waiting for Maeve" from Macquarie Street

1:10:36 - CREDITS

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast was produced by Marc Gunn, The Celtfather and our Patrons on Patreon. The show was edited by Mitchell Petersen with Graphics by Miranda Nelson Designs. Visit our website to subscribe to the show. You’ll find links to all of the artists played in this episode.

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Promote Celtic culture through music at http://celticmusicpodcast.com/.

WELCOME THE IRISH & CELTIC MUSIC PODCAST * Helping you celebrate Celtic culture through music. I am Marc Gunn. I’m a Celtic musician and podcaster. This podcast is here to build our diverse Celtic community and help the incredible artists who so generously share their music with you. Musicians rely on your support to keep making music. If you hear music you love, please email artists to let them know you heard them on the Irish and Celtic Music Podcast.

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TRAVEL WITH CELTIC INVASION VACATIONS

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I WANT YOUR FEEDBACK

What are you doing today while listening to the podcast? You can send a written comment along with a picture of what you're doing while listening or a picture you took of a band that you saw.</

How would you like to introduce an episode of the podcast? It’s super easy. Contact me for details.

Email me at celticpodcast@gmail or message me on Facebook.

Rich Gouette emailed a photo: "you’re asking for pics of what we’re doing whilst listening…"

Jehovah Hohenzollern emailed an audio file: "Royal Pirate Hector Barbarossa King Bishop of Ireland the Irish King of Pregnancy and Irish and Music Podcast #3

Michael Myers emailed to let me know he pre - ordered my eBook, "Celtic Musicians Guide to Digital Music: "Marc, Thanks, I preordered. I also linked to the free copy…Amazon review will happen after I read through the book. I’ll definitely share this link with my Irish players in the PacNW."

Michael Logan emailed a while back for his band River Driver: "Hey there friend,

I just found your podcast and binged four episodes yesterday while building a chicken coop for the chicks that my wife randomly came home with.

Anyway, I play in a new band called River Driver - www.riverdrivermusic.com and we would love to send you our debut EP that just came out last week. It's headed to streaming platforms but I can share audio files with you for you to use if you choose. Cheers!"

Bob Nicholson emailed a photo: "A couple of weeks ago I was doing an early morning walk on Inis Mor while listening to the podcast.

Alas, now back to reality in Huntsville, Alabama."

Sarah Minick emailed: "Hi Marc. I live in southwest Virginia and take a daily hour hike in the mountains. We have lots of black bears here and so far no bad encounters. I actually love the bears, but I always want to be sure I don't startle one. So I walk with your podcast singing out loud.

What could be better than a celtic music hike with my beloved little dog, sunshine, blue skies, mountains, and wildlife...including bears?

Love the podcast. Keep up the great work! Many thanks,"

woodland folk emailed a couple photos and this sound of a fox: "This world is a gift my friend...."

Shel O'Toole emailed: "Hi Marc,

I spent 5 months wandering around Ireland back in 1998.

I loved Glendalough in County Wicklow. It’s so picturesque and there is some great walking in the area.

I also enjoyed walking around Tralee toward Dingle. I didn’t get to Dingle but rambled across low hills through sheep filled paddocks.

I did get to Mayo and of course visited Matt Molloy’s pub in Westport where I was mistaken for Dolores Keane. That was such a hoot and the look on the faces of the two men who were trying to determine if I was indeed “herself” when I said g’day in my broadest Aussie accent was priceless.

One of the guys I went to Irish World Music School with had a salmon farm near Westport. That was 25 years ago so who knows if he’s still there. He was a flautist so if you’re at a session you may run into him.

Malin Head was a gorgeous place to visit, especially Raised Beach where you can scoop up semi - precious stones that have been worn smooth by being tumbled in the waves for years.

The only place I visited in Ireland I did not fall in love with was Derry.

I look forward to your stories from your immersion in Mayo.

Sláinte"

Check out this episode!

#celtic #Irish #Scottish #music #Ireland #Scotland

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