Post by wales on Apr 24, 2012 12:25:56 GMT -5
The thuds of his boots echoed off the walls of the deserted alleys as the man continued on his way through the streets of London. The night’s rain had let up long enough for him to make it this far from the tavern he had left and he was sure that he could make it to his apartment before the clouds above the city released a fresh load of English rain. The only things in the man’s hands were an umbrella tucked under his arm, and a fiddle case in the other. Tucked within his pocket, was a few pieces of money and a couple numbers girls had slipped to hi following his performance, though he wont be dialing the numbers…. It’s still polite to accept them though.
Howell stopped at a traffic light and waited for his turn to continue, while in his head he went over his most recent gig. He had been paid modestly, the owner was a friend of his, and he had already performed there many times in the past so the crowd who received him was large and adoring. The ecstasy of the night still flowed strongly through his veins and the Welshman could not deter the smile from his lips, even when the screech of a horn from some moron driving made him jump back onto the curb, even though the walking signal was clearly visible. Muttering a curse in Welsh, the man continued on his way down the next three blocks before finally arriving at his destination.
Ascending the four floors to his modestly sized apartment, which had a great view of the London cityscape, Howell could hear the rain begin to rap against the building just as he was unlocking his front door. Entering his dark apartment, the rain making its presence known against the window’s of the apartment and Howell eased into his routine of locking the door, turning on a few lights, and shedding his damp shoes and coat by the door. He was tired, damn tired, but he had a few things to do before climbing into his bed and passing out until at least noon the next day. Night had already begun to turn into morning but this was the life Howell loved and breathed, the life of a musician. True he wished to excel further, but he had a few more bills to pay before he could continue that road.
Setting down his fiddle case, intending on cleaning the instrument before anything else, Howell eased himself into a chair, rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh, and took out his phone and turned it on. There were days, which he wondered why he had the thing at all, he never really used it, but it was a way he guess to keep in touch with family and such. He was surprised to see a message from none other than his brother, Finnegan, the big-shot rugby player… Howell had nothing against Finn, his half-brother, but it was odd to get a message from him. Still, he sent him a reply back saying that he’d call him in the morning and turned on the sound of his phone. The blond would clean his fiddle, shower, and freshen up before finally slipping into bed.
“Hmm… ‘ee say’d ‘ee wanted ta get together…. Guess thayt maynes ‘ee bae en town….” With a yawn, the man of Wales rolled over onto his belly, his one leg sticking off his bed, and soon fell fast asleep, knowing that in the morning, or well afternoon, he'd be hearing from his brother.
Howell stopped at a traffic light and waited for his turn to continue, while in his head he went over his most recent gig. He had been paid modestly, the owner was a friend of his, and he had already performed there many times in the past so the crowd who received him was large and adoring. The ecstasy of the night still flowed strongly through his veins and the Welshman could not deter the smile from his lips, even when the screech of a horn from some moron driving made him jump back onto the curb, even though the walking signal was clearly visible. Muttering a curse in Welsh, the man continued on his way down the next three blocks before finally arriving at his destination.
Ascending the four floors to his modestly sized apartment, which had a great view of the London cityscape, Howell could hear the rain begin to rap against the building just as he was unlocking his front door. Entering his dark apartment, the rain making its presence known against the window’s of the apartment and Howell eased into his routine of locking the door, turning on a few lights, and shedding his damp shoes and coat by the door. He was tired, damn tired, but he had a few things to do before climbing into his bed and passing out until at least noon the next day. Night had already begun to turn into morning but this was the life Howell loved and breathed, the life of a musician. True he wished to excel further, but he had a few more bills to pay before he could continue that road.
Setting down his fiddle case, intending on cleaning the instrument before anything else, Howell eased himself into a chair, rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh, and took out his phone and turned it on. There were days, which he wondered why he had the thing at all, he never really used it, but it was a way he guess to keep in touch with family and such. He was surprised to see a message from none other than his brother, Finnegan, the big-shot rugby player… Howell had nothing against Finn, his half-brother, but it was odd to get a message from him. Still, he sent him a reply back saying that he’d call him in the morning and turned on the sound of his phone. The blond would clean his fiddle, shower, and freshen up before finally slipping into bed.
“Hmm… ‘ee say’d ‘ee wanted ta get together…. Guess thayt maynes ‘ee bae en town….” With a yawn, the man of Wales rolled over onto his belly, his one leg sticking off his bed, and soon fell fast asleep, knowing that in the morning, or well afternoon, he'd be hearing from his brother.