murder house / h.s

thirty six.

Avery's POV

When we walked inside, there was an unfamiliar face working as bartender. Of course, I didn't expect Ed to be there. He was at the wake. No person could be in two places at once, even though I really wished Harry could.

"Tell me again why we're in here?" Vienna pried at me. By now we were walking up to the man at the counter. She had no idea about my intentions.

"Harry." was all I said, and she stopped in her tracks. I'm guessing her intention on that was to make me stop as well, but I kept going. My walking came to a halt when I approached the counter.

"What can I get ya', miss?" the bartender asked me. He looked more like a boy than a man, though. That struck me with curiosity.

"A... uh, Visper... please." I could barely think of the right words to say. My first thought wasn't of getting a drink, but now that I was here I realized it could take my mind off of things for a good while. Vienna could always hail a taxi to take her back to the hotel if she got fed up with being here. That wasn't my main concern.

"Coming right up, lady." he winked at me, sending me a little off track. Right then, I noticed he had a very strong Irish accent. It was familiar, but I couldn't quite tell from where. He walked off and soon came back with a shot glass filled with a red liquid.

"I thought vispers were clear." I said, unsure of wether I should drink the mysterious concoction or not. After all, it did appear like he had fixed it in the wrong color. Unless it was red dye, I wasn't trusting this.

"Oh, but this visper isn't." he laughed, which sounded more like a chuckle to me. Nonetheless, I downed the shot quickly. Alcohol burned the back of my throat, yet I sustained from grimacing at the sensation. It didn't taste half bad.

"It's alright." I smiled at him. Frankly, he smiled back. He looked like a friendly person, and that I was glad for. I was going to need all the help I could possibly get.

"What's your name?" I asked him. His hand moved to his blonde hair, where he tussled it a little and gave it a messy look. It was kind of cute, but my mind was still on Harry.

"My names' Niall." he told me, and suddenly it all came back to me. The blonde one from Harry's old band. God, he had to know something. My instinct to come here had definitely not failed me.

"Why aren't you at Harry's funeral?" I inquired. Niall just shook his head and laughed, which confused me. If his best mate had died, why was he all giddy-- and most importantly, working in a bar?

"How do you know Harry?"

"Who doesn't know Harry?" I giggled. I had only downed one shot, but my vulnerability to alcohol made it feel like I had downed several. Everything felt lightweight and I felt carefree, and suddenly it made sense to me why Harry had liked to drink so much.

"You just talk about him like you know him personally." Niall frowned and messed with his hair again. Maybe it was a habit of his, because he had done it twice already-- within the span of a few minutes. "The fans don't know that his wake and funeral are today."

"Well, I'm not a fan then-- am I?" I teased, leaning over the counter. Something was definitely wrong with me, and I didn't like it. This wasn't usually how I acted, but something inside of me couldn't control it.

"You're that girl who was on Murder House."

I nodded. It was a wonder how he had figured that out so quickly, unless he had watched the show. But only sick minds take entertainment in other's suffering, and it didn't look like Niall was sick at all. He looked kind and gentle.