#saturday night for cringe fail girlies

[royposting]

my tummy hurts sooo bad

[angrylizardjacket]

ask your destiny to dance [1] {Roger Taylor}

A/N: Here it is, folks, the first installment of my long-running OC fic. Please leave feedback if you have anything! My inbox is always open!

[masterpost]

Love at first sight isn’t real, or, not with people at least, but when Ash sets her eyes on the dingy little bar that’s three blocks from her dingy little apartment, she thinks she’s as close as she’s ever gotten.

“Listen,” the gruff owner of the pub, Uncle Dave, as the regulars call him though he’s not really anyone’s uncle, claps a hand on her shoulder, “you’ve gotta be made of stern stuff to work here, girlie, you think you got what it takes?” He’d been sceptical of her, barely five-foot-three and soft faced, but her character references had been glowing enough for him to put her through training behind the bar.

“I think I can give it a go.” She grinned up at him, expression one of unwavering determination. It’s that determination that gets her through her first shift, thrown in the deep end on a Saturday night during the second week of term for the university half a block away, and everyone’s already looking to blow off steam. The band they’ve hired is... mediocre, and getting progressively worse as they fuel up on their free drinks between sets, and the guy they’ve got on bass slaps her on the ass when she’s going around picking up empty glasses. Even so, she manages to keep smiling, and doesn’t throw the leftover beer that someone had put out a cigarette in, in his face.

“You alright, honey?” Maureen, the only other female bartender, pouring a beer for a kid who looks suspiciously young, gives her a concerned look, but Ash gives her a sunny smile, and heads to the back, arms piled high with empty glasses, to start washing up. Despite the groping, the snide remarks, and occasionally spilled drinks, she loves it, the hum of people talking, of music playing, the smell of smoke and stale beer that she had become so accustomed to during her first year, now a place she hopes she’ll find herself a regular within.

Her saving grace of the night is Freddie, who shows up halfway into the second set, grinning brightly and waving at her over the bar.

“What is the fanciest drink this establishment offers?” He’s leaning both his elbows on the bar, chin resting on his hands when she comes to serve him. She can see the amusement sparkling in his eyes, and playing along, she leans against the bar on her side considering.

“We have the Long Island Iced Tea,” she’d heard a woman at the bar order it about an hour ago, though Maureen was the one serving her, and she recalls what she can where she had been half paying attention to the process, half pouring a beer for a guy who had told her to smile more, “it involves several of the bottles we have behind the bar, and a fancy glass from the back.” She mused, faux serious.

“And you know how to make it already?” Freddie seemed part-surprised, part-impressed, and Ash struggled to keep a straight face.

“No I do not. Would you like a pint?” She asked, already pouring the drink for him, anticipating his answer. He, unsurprisingly, broke out into a grin, agreeing, handing over the money for the drink.

“Do you know when Don’t Forget To Smile is playing next?” Freddie leans against the bar, beer in one hand, watching the band with mild interest, but Ash can’t answer for the customer beside him.

“Dunno, Freds, it’s my first day.” She reminded him pointedly, smiling brightly at the other patron as she passed over his drink and collected his money. To his credit, Freddie lets her finish her job, hanging around the bar and cringing as the band crashed to an uneven end for most, if not all of their songs.

She’s given her second break of the night at the start of their third set, having been at the bar since six, her feet killing her as it just edged on eleven, and Freddie joins her as she sits on a milk crate out the back, lighting up a cigarette.

“Enjoying it?” His eyes are closed, enjoying the thump of the bass and drums though the building without having to endure the actual song. Ash takes a long drag, pulling a notepad from the back pocket of her jeans, along with a pencil she’d swiped from the gambling section.

“It’s fun,” she admitted, sketching out an idea she had gotten when admiring a girl’s fringe skirt across the room. “’m mad that I can’t tell some of the blokes to shove it,” she let out a humourless laugh, taking another a long drag from her cigarette, pausing in her drawing to pull a few bills from where she’d had them tucked into her bra, “but I’ve made like twenty bucks in tips so,” and she shrugs instead of finishing the thought, putting the money back to her bra before passing off her cigarette to him. Hunching over for a moment, she struggles to add detail with the little pencil, but settles for what she can manage.

“Homework?” Freddie breathes in a lung full of smoke and lets it out with a chuckle as she affirms. “Still haven’t finished the ten thumbnails we need by Monday?” Again, she affirms, and he just laughs harder.

“I’ve been making my own clothes for years, it’s dumb that I need to take Intro to Fashion Design before I can get into any of the higher grade subjects.” Frowning at her work, Ash pauses for a long moment, considering her own words. Snapping her notebook shut, she shoves it back into her back pocket and takes the cigarette back from Freddie, leaning her head back against the wall as she inhaled out of frustration.

“I know darling, you’re a powerhouse and they’re holding you back.” Freddie pet her knee affectionately, and she leaned her head against his shoulder.

“They just want all this commercial bullshit.” Ash played up the childish whine in her voice, before leaning forward, suddenly intense as she stared off into the middle distance. “Where’s the pizzazz?” She demanded, looking back at where Freddie had his eyebrows raised. Without breaking eye contact, as if still demanding an answer, she takes another drag on her cigarette, before putting it out on the wall behind them.

“The pizzazz is with you, it’s always been with you, fuck what they think.” Freddie told her, and Ash’s expression softened from intense to fond as she tucked the half remaining cigarette in the breast pocket of her blouse. 

“Fuck what they think.” She parroted back with a nod, and Freddie smiled at her, accepting her hand as she stood, getting ready to head back inside. After stretching out her legs, getting ready to spend the rest of her shift on them, she turns to him as he leaned against the door. “Is Smile really that good?” She’d been hearing about them for weeks now from Freddie, who presently, smiled, amused.

“They have potential.” He conceded, to which Ash narrowed her eyes.

“They better than these clowns?” She pointed at him, past the door to where the band was struggling it’s way through it’s final set. That gave Freddie pause.

“Yes?” Though it sounded more like a question, which only made Ash more suspicious.

“Fredward, if you bring garbage music into my establishment-” She warned, but Freddie just recoiled, expression disgusted.

“Fredward? That’s awful, and like I said, they have potential.” After a beat, he moved, opening the door, mouth twitching into a smile. “And it’s hardly your establishment, darling, you’ve been here a day.” Which, okay he’s got a point.

Until he doesn’t. She goes home at the end of the night with almost forty dollars in tips, and Dave looks rather proud, promising that he’d have Maureen teach her how to mix drinks. He asks her to come in the next day, for the Sunday lunch crowd, and she doesn’t say no.

Ash works weekends now, starts on Friday afternoons, finishes on Sunday nights, learns her way around the bar, learns the faces of the regulars. The men who come in on Sunday, drink beer and watch the dog races, they take to calling her the Pocket Rocket, for her stature and bright red hair, and her boundless enthusiasm. She’s found the brighter she smiles, the more she laughs at their stupid jokes, the more they tip her, and as a poor uni student, she wouldn’t dare pass up the opportunity. 

The nickname carries over with Dave and Maureen, as well as the other staff, as Ash becomes known and liked for being able to put up with the uni students the best, and for being a quick study when it comes to mixing drinks. They favour the nickname, actually, they think it’s cute and quirky, and it does make her smile.

If she’s not Pocket Rocket, she’s just Ash, rather than Ashley, which was on her resume, and though she’s thankful, it’s what she prefers. She’s Ash on Friday and Saturday nights, when the uni students flood the pub and she’s the shortest one in the room, and on her second night, two different people also answered when Maureen called to her through the crowd. It’s easier, it’s less of a mouthful to yell when help is needed at the bar. 

Her classmates frequent the bar, Freddie included, and so even to them the nickname spreads; no longer Ashley, as read from the roll, Ash, who might be failing Intro to Fashion Design, who’s always quiet in class, but wears a smile as big as she is at the pub. 

“Do you know when Smile’s playing?” Freddie’s almost finished his drink by the time he asks, which is a new record for him. It’s a quiet Friday, they’ve got the jukebox going tonight instead of a band, and Ash is drying glasses behind the bar and hanging them up, everyone having been served at the bar.

“Tomorrow.” She informs nonchalantly, and he actually rises from the stool he had been sitting on, affronted.

“And how long have you known?” He demanded in mock outrage. She’s been at the bar for almost a month before she realised that the band didn’t actually play at her pub. After a word to her boss, telling him about the reputation the band had for bringing in customers, basing all her information off of things Freddie had told her, he looked into them.

“I had a hunch, but Dave confirmed it for me earlier today.” She grinned at Freddie, who’s eyes lit up with excitement. “They don’t play here, Fred, why’d you keep asking me-?”

“Because I wanted to show you for a while, but you’re always working when they’re playing, my dear.” He sighed dramatically, though it was all for show, and he let up with a grin. “Oh, I’ve been looking forward to this.” He mused, finishing off the last drops of his drink, pushing the empty glass towards her. “They really are quite good.” He assured, and Ash let herself smile.

“I thought they just ‘had potential’.” She asked, raising an eyebrow at him as she washed his glass in the sink behind the bar.

“They’ve been practicing.” Freddie told her with an air of finality, and Ash chose not to pry into whatever that truly entailed, as it seemed Freddie was heading home for the night.

The next day, Dave calls her from where she’s sipping water behind the bar, where she sees three guys all standing by the stage they had set up in the corner of the pub.

“If ya need anything, Pocket Rocket’ll be the one you go to.” It’s clear by his tone that Dave’s already tired of dealing with uni students, and Ash realises he’s talking to the band, here to set up. She picks up her step, brightens her smile, and fixes the way her shorts are sitting against her thighs. There’s no uniform at the pub, and Dave is pretty much of the opinion that everyone can dress however they want, as long as there’s no high heels. 

Both Ash and Maureen wear black blouses, with the sleeves rolled up past their elbows, showing perhaps more cleavage than was strictly necessary, though it did garner more tips. Maureen usually opts for black pants, though Ash, still in uni, can get away with wearing sheer tights with very short shorts over the top. No-one’s complained thus far, and she’s pretty sure they’re not going to.

“Pocket Rocket?” She hears one of the band members scoff, and her smile gets a little stiff at the derision, but she straightens her posture, tightens her ponytail, and makes her way to her place by Dave’s side.

“That’s me!” Her usually chipper tone ringing out loud and clear as she looked over the three guys.

“Ash, this is Smile, uh,” Dave held out his hand, as if to introduce them to her, though he seemed to have already forgotten their individual names. When Ash holds out her hand to shake theirs, Dave takes that as his cue to leave, and he heads for the back door, probably to have a smoke.

“I’m Ash, they call me the Pocket Rocket ‘round here. I guess I’ll be your contact for tonight, lemme know if you need anything.” She rattles of automatically, as the first one grasps her hand, shaking.

“Well, I’m Tim, and this is-” the man with the dark hair and a dopey smile was waved off almost as soon as he started to shake hands with her.

“People who are capable of introducing themselves. I’m Roger.” The moment Roger looked at her, his smile was all teeth and the promise of a bigger bite, pretty and charming in a way that was so effortless. She knew that smile, the way his gaze dipped for just a moment, and how his eyes followed her once she had shook hands with Brian and began showing them around the space. She’d watched playboys work at the bar far too often to be blind to one right in front of her. 

This was the band Freddie raved about? Brian seemed okay enough, Tim was a bit dopey but alright, but then there was Roger. After showing them around, still smiling, as was her job, she headed back to the bar, taking a long drink of water. 

They caught her attention once more as they began a sound check later in the night, and when she looked up, she watched for a moment before Roger caught her gaze, and he grinned, sharp and mischievous. She did not smile back, just raised her eyebrows at him, which only made him grin wider; they both knew exactly the type of person he was.

So no, love at first sight isn’t real, of this Ash is sure, but as she looks away, called by another customer, her mind still fixed on Roger’s infuriating grin, she knows one thing; hate, absolute loathing at first sight, it was entirely possible.

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