Rockin' Romeo and Jammin' Juliet

Emo Trinity Threesome

Chapter 28: Emo Trinity Threesome

((Playlist: Drunken Lullabies by Flogging Molly))

As they packed up The Hussie for the gig, Lilith gave Sophie a playful shove. "Staying up, what, five hours past your bedtime tonight?"

Sophie grinned. "Who says I sleep?"

Lilth seemed to ponder this. "Good point," she finally concluded.

Dave waddled past the two carrying a bass drum. "Less talking, more packing," he said passive-aggressively as he plunked the drum into the car.

Lilith scowled. "How about you take that drum and shove it up your-"

A crash sounded from the porch. "Ass!" Evan cursed, struggling to pick up the duct tape-covered amp he had just dropped.

Jackson ran out of the house, carrying the microphone equipment. "Jesus, dude, be careful with that. It's an antique."

They finished loading up the car, climbed in awkwardly around all the equipment, and made their way downtown.

Evan shifted around in his seat, elbowing both Sophie and Lilith in the process. "I can't wait until we win this talent show thing. Maybe we can use the money to buy a van," he said.

Lilith rolled her eyes. "Evan, it's five hundred dollars, not five million dollars."

"We could buy used," Dave suggested, kicking his feet up on the dashboard.

When they halted at a stoplight, Jackson reached over and shoved his feet off. "Five hundred dollars would barely get you the tires for a van."

"But dude, a van would be so nice," Evan sighed wistfully. "Just think about it: we'd have room for the instruments and the sound equipment. Dave wouldn't have to sit with an amp in his lap. Sophie wouldn't have cymbals sitting on her feet. I would be able to ride without Lilith giving me a lap dance."

Lilith flipped him off, as expected.

A short while later, Jackson swung into the first open parking space at some odd building in a rather shady part of town. They all piled out of the car, desperate for air (alas, the Hussy's air conditioning was rapidly losing its touch), and started unloading the trunk.

Dave burst out laughing as he approached the door. "Jackson! Why didn't you tell us what this place was called?"

Jackson appeared puzzled. "What do you mean?" he asked, grabbing both guitar cases. "It's called The SS, or something like that, isn't it?"

Evan read the sign on the door, smiling like that pervy eighth-grader who just walked into a Sex Ed class. "Did MacAlister not tell you what 'SS' stands for?"

"What's it stand for?" Sophie was almost afraid to ask.

Evan and Dave exchanged a glance. "Semen."

"What?!"

At that moment, the outdoor sign lit up, declaring the establishment as 'The Salty Seaman', with a cartoon of a rather gritty looking sailor next to it. 

 They set up their sound equipment inside on the stage, finding the entire bar haunted by alcoholics, waitresses and bartenders dressed as mermaids, and lots of anchors.

Literally. Anchors everywhere.

Sophie sauntered up behind Jackson while he tested his microphone. "This is... an interesting place," she said in his ear, looking out over the room. One of the bartenders actually looked like Popeye; old nautical instruments littered the walls, and the condiments on each table were inside little model ships. Everything was made of wood, making the club look the orlop deck of an old vessel. A group of men were drunkenly playing some sort of drinking game with a huge ship's wheel, a bunch of empty whiskey bottles, and the creative use of someone's actual peg leg.