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/ July, 2017 /
The air was thick with stale cigarette smoke and the pungent smell of beer as Avery waltzed through the door of The Parlor. The wilting bar was situated in an awkward corner of Detroit, rough around the edges and loved by both visitors and locals alike for decades. Avery was a frequent guest, not as a simple patron, but as an ever-so-loved background noise as people drowned their sorrows and celebrations alike in booze. Avery rubbed her thumb along the handle of her guitar case as she shimmied through the scattered tables and chairs, relatively empty as the early crowd had already made way for the late-nighters.
"You're late..." A voice from behind her, as familiar as the very blood in her veins. Avery smirked as she flipped up the latches on her guitar case and pulled her aged Martin acoustic from the worn leather.
"Intentionally." She called over her shoulder, fishing a guitar pick out of a plastic baggie and placing it between her teeth.
"Well, you gotta stop that. Birch's gonna quit letting you play here..." Avery finally turned around to face Alex, her twin brother and bar manager at The Parlor, and flashed her brightest smile, pick still wedged between her teeth.
"You know just as well as I do that's not true... besides, the later crowd is the most fun, they like my stuff." Avery shrugged and pulled her guitar strap over her head. Alex cracked his knuckles out of habit and gave his sister a look.
"That's because the late crowd is always plastered." There was a glint of teasing in the blue eyes that mirrored Avery's, and she waved him off.
"Whatever, I'm here now. Check my levels, would you?" Avery grumbled as she stepped up onto the platform and plugged her guitar in. She situated herself in front of a microphone stand, pulling it down to her height before strumming a few times. Once it was clear that her guitar was coming through the PA system, Avery checked her mic. Eyes didn't even turn in her direction, but she expected as much. The Parlor was home, familiar territory... the occasional passerby would be the only one peaked with interest in her sound, and even that never lasted longer than the first two or three drinks. Avery nodded at Alex, who nodded back before returning his attention to the bartenders. "Good evening..." Avery's mic squealed, causing a universal cringe from the few patrons seated in front of her. She rolled her eyes, not bothering to give more of a welcome than that, and began plucking the intro of one of her oldest original songs.
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