Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

I woke up to my blaring alarm. It’s 9 am and my shift at the bar starts at 11:30. I take a quick shower, making sure to wash the freshly shaded rose tattoo on my right knee with the good soap and apply my Aquafor after I'm dried off. I pause to look in the mirror and admire my in-progress leg sleeve I’m getting done in honor of my favorite band, Sleep Token. Black and gray ink marks my skin. The fresh rose on my knee, the line work of another rose graces the back of my leg just above my knee, the outline of candles snakes up the front of my thigh, and the highlight of my leg is a black and gray portrait of Vessel himself. His teeth are bared, his hands are flexed, and his mask is tattooed with perfect detail, down to the filigree on the lower edge of the mask.
I throw on a pair of black panties and a matching push-up bra and dress in my usual jean shorts and tank top with the biker bar’s logo on it. I throw on my checkerboard vans and take my hair out of the towel I put it up in. I dry my dark purple waves and put my waist-length hair in a Dutch braid, and leave the one-bedroom apartment my boyfriend and I call home.

The day shift at Dad’s is slow for a summer-time Friday. I couple of my regulars are sitting at the bar nursing their mid-day beers and snacking on some wings. The servers are back in the kitchen, trying to get free food from the line cooks by shamelessly flirting with them. The sound of motorcycles entering our small parking lot grabs my attention, and once the engines cut off, my favorites of the regular crowd waltz in. Three of the members of our local motorcycle club, The Black Roses. Butcher, Breakdown, and Twitch sit down at their spots at the bar in front of the service well. The owner should have plaques engraved for them for as often as they sit in those spots.

“Meg!” Butcher, a mountain of a man who always has at least one knife on him, exclaims as I set his neat bourbon in front of him, “How is our favorite bartender today?”
“I’m doing alright today, Butch,” I reply as I pour the other two men their beers, “how’s business down and the shop going?”
Butcher sighs and rolls his eyes as he elbows Breakdown and Twitch, “These two don’t seem to know how to put tools away correctly. Specifically, my 10 millimeter socket.”
I chuckle as I set down the beers in front of the other two, now embarrassed, men, “Butch, don’t you know that no matter how organized your tools are, the 10 millimeter socket will always go missing when you need it?”
“Yeah, I know,” he smiles, “on the other hand, is your Dyna still down?”
“Yeah,” I roll my eyes, “ Camden has yet to procure a trailer so we can get it down to the shop, and you know how busy I am between the bar and my music.”
“Why don’t you drop that pretentious asshole already, Meg?” Twitch comments.
“He’s not that much of an asshole. He’s just concerned for my safety when I ride and do shows by myself,” I roll my eyes at Twitch.
“Bullshit,” Breakdown says gruffly, “Y’all couldn’t be more different. He’s a pompous asshole who only got his job because of daddy’s connections.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know we couldn’t be more different, but we love each other, and he supports my dreams of my music career,” I toss a bar towel in Breakdown’s direction.
“Anyway…,” Butcher takes a long pause, giving the other two men a shut the fuck up look, “how’s the knee healing up? From what I can see, it looks good!”
“Still a little sore, but it's only a couple of days old,” I shrug.
“Well, it looks great so far. How many sessions do you think you have left?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe six, but it could be more. It would only be less if my music career takes off overnight,” I laugh.
“Well, if it does, make sure to invite us to your first big show, alright?” Butcher says as he raises his bourbon.
“Oh, you know I will,” I wink at the three men.

My shift ends shortly after they leave, and I shoot Camden a text that I am on my way home. He replies with a quick “ok,” and I sigh as I start my car and start my drive home.

Chapter Text

I walk back into our apartment and see Camden sitting on the couch watching The Office.
“Hey, baby, I’m home,” I say as I set my purse down and slip off my shoes.
“Hey,” Camden replies dryly, “can you grab me another beer when you get done getting comfortable?”
I roll my eyes as I walk toward the kitchen and grab him a beer from the fridge. “You’re coming with me to the open mic at the brewery tonight, right?” I ask as I hand him his new beer.
He cracks open his beer and shrugs, “I’ve been coming with you to those for years and recording all of them,” he takes a sip of his beer, “It’s been years, Meg, and nothing has come of it. How long is this going to go on?”
My jaw drops at his statement, and I turn on my heels to face him. “Cam,” I pause and take a deep breath, “Making music is my dream, and I’m going to keep doing it as long as I am able.”
“Meg,” he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “I-”
“Cam, don’t,” I snap, “You know this is my dream, and you’ve been supporting me for years. What changed?”
He stays silent, looking down at his phone as he takes another sip of his beer, and I sigh and walk to the bedroom and change into a pair of ripped jeans and a black short-sleeve blouse.
Once I’m done changing, I grab my guitar case, my phone, and my purse. I walk out the door without saying goodbye to Camden and make my way to Harvest Moon Brewing.

The open mic night is already in full swing by the time I walk through the brewery doors. One of the other musicians is already up on the small stage, singing a passable cover of a ’90s country song.
I make my way over to Mike, the local musician who puts on this event, to sign up for a time slot to perform. I sign up for the last spot on the list and do a mental celebration that I got here when I did.
After I give a smile to Mike, I head over to the bar and order a raspberry sour from the regular bartender, and head out to the small patio to make sure my guitar is tuned and to get a little bit of practice in. I sip my beer to calm my pre-show nerves as I softly strum the chords to the last of the three songs I’ll be performing tonight.
“I figured I’d find you out here,” says a familiar gruff voice as he walks up to me and sits across from me.
I look up and smile as I see Butcher, “Butch! I didn’t see the bike out front. Did you cage it here tonight?”
“Yeah, I did,” he looks around the small patio, “Where is that pretentious prick of yours tonight? Doesn’t he usually record your performances for you?”
I sigh and take a large sip of my beer, “He didn’t want to come tonight. We got into a… discussion about it before I left.”
“You wanna talk about it?” Butcher gives me a raised eyebrow, and I shake my head, “Alrighty, Meg. If you ever need anything, you know me and Red are here for you.”
I give Butch a smile, stand, and finish the last of my beer, “I know,” I look down at my phone and grab my guitar,” It’s time for me to perform, d’you mind recording for me tonight?”
“I would be honored to, Meg,” Butch stands, and I hand him my phone as we head inside.