open;; a barrier that no flame shall pass

[grace isabella langston]

there's a little girl in this little town,
with a little too much heart to go around.
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Grace Langston wasn't the type of person who went out to places like a bar on her own, but even given this fact, here she was sitting at the counter with a look on her face as if deep in thought. A drink in her hand -- cool to the touch -- was the only thing that was keeping her grounded. Today was a long, long day for her and even though she wasn't this woman who would stop by at a bar after work, she felt that it was exactly what she needed. Her glass was full of some clear liquid that the tender recommended, and without a second's hesitation she drank the contents like her life depended on it. The taste was bitter and her face didn't leave much to the imagination. "Whoo, that's stronger than I anticipated." she said with a slight smile, connecting with her inner person. Grace was still young and beautiful. Life didn't have to be over at 22.

She had had a conversation with her sister that morning that had sent her through a painful loop. Her younger, more seemingly accomplished as she, was pulling up past memories unintentionally. They started out discussing what floral arrangements she'd use in her own wedding, and all of a sudden it had turned to the fact that Grace had been so close to the big I do and it had all fallen apart. Neither meant to, but it was like an elephant standing in the room that no one was mentioning. It would have happened eventually. Grace had been hurt when she had been at a wonderful place in her life, and now that her sister was following in those footsteps, the things in her past were undoubtedly going to come up again.

She smiled into her glass, but really there was no humor in the act. It had been a long while since she had felt this low about it and ripping open old wounds. The sensation of being in that moment again back in North Carolina was heart breaking. But, Grace had cried one too many times over this and she refused to do so any more. With a heavy swallow, she looked up to the person behind the bar and asked for another drink. Sure, she had moved past shedding tears over her broken heart, but drinking away the pieces was an entirely different story. She might not be the type of person to go into a bar on her own, but she wasn't too proud to drink away her sorrow. When you lose someone like she had, it was almost inevitable to fall apart a little.

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[malcolm]

“No, really. I don’t need another.” Malcolm sighed as a beer was pushed into his hand anyway. The man tilted his head in some tolerance, ready for the night to be through. He wasn’t much of a drinker—believed it shut down too many senses he relied upon for survival—and this would already be his third. Granted, Budweiser wasn’t anything heavy like whiskey but if he drank enough of them, it’d come to have the same effects. “To Brad and Tammy,” he muttered in unison with the group around him, as they toasted the man of the hour. Malcolm dutifully gulped down some of the bitter liquid and then let it be; he was finished for the night. In fact, it was probably time to head home too. Tomorrow, he had a house to work on and he doubted the contractors would appreciate a tired, hung-over employee. He scratched his beard thoughtfully, watching the group of men in good humor. They might have had to drag him here, but for all the fuss he made, it hadn’t been that bad a time at all. Actually, it felt nice knowing they wanted him there at all. Reminded him of family, kind of.

Malcolm got to his feet, abandoning his beer on the table as he made through the three or four guys to reach Brad. “Hey, congrats to you both. I hope married life treats you well and you make lots of little brats that make you want to pull your hair out even as you love them,” he joked, pulling him into a brief but affectionate hug and patting him on the back. “We were expecting this news in two year though, buddy,” he laughed, nudging Brad playfully. Not all guys were like Malcolm, though. He didn’t see much point in rushing time, especially when you decided a long time in advance whether the person was the one for you or not. How long did a man need to know? Not that he planned to take the plunge anytime soon; marriage wasn’t for him, and neither were girlfriends for that matter. It wasn’t that he hated commitment—Malcolm idolized the thought of comfort and family. But at this time in his life, he had no means to care for anyone but himself. It’d be stupid to burden himself and eventually cause a divorce from all the stress in a marriage that otherwise could have been successful if they’d just been patient. He dated occasionally; some of the guys set him up with their wives’ best friend, or their younger cousin, or something along those lines. And he would have a good time with these women, would take them dancing or to movies or do whatever they wanted to do. It just never went any further because Malcolm wasn’t a catch.

With a final goodbye to the rest of his comrades, a few shouting at him they’d see him tomorrow, Malcolm wormed his way through the crowded establishment to the front. His fingers dug into his back pocket, removing his wallet and withdrawing a few bills to he might pay for his drinks. The bartender was busy with another customer though, so he perched haphazardly on the nearest stool to wait. Idly, his gaze maneuvered around his environment, taking in the rowdy people, the size and shape of glasses, the different kinds of liquor being offered, and the utterly depressed woman at his side. Malcolm snapped to attention, the last bit of information finally filtering in. He glanced her way again, a mixture of curiosity and pity for this woman he’d never seen before crossing his features. Lord, was she a looker though. He couldn’t imagine a creature so pretty could be so down and out. Something major had to have happened. And Malcolm was the first to know that finding solace at the end of a glass wasn’t the way to get over things—moving on was. She, clearly, was stuck in the past, whatever the problem was. “Excuse me miss,” Malcolm said, sliding closer for intimate conversation but not enough to invade her space, “something tells me you need an ear tonight. And if you don’t mind, I got an ear that’s willing to listen.” A smile followed his offer, hand still clutching his money for the drinks he’d forgotten all about paying for.

[grace isabella langston]

there's a little girl in this little town,
with a little too much heart to go around.
^{- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -}

The celebration going on around her was making matters worse. She heard words like wedding and marriage...and children. Remembering her own engagement celebration was inevitable at this point, and the familiar Irish pub back in North Carolina flooded her thoughts. Pressing her lips together, she took another drink from the glass. This taste, however, the liquid's name came to mind. Vodka. Normally, she didn't drink such potent mixtures, but today wasn't just an ordinary day. She'd told the bartender to give her something to mend a broken heart, and although it didn't seem to be working on the task at hand, it sure made it easier to not care. It made it easier to not think about how she had ended up this way and forget what she wanted to name her own children when the day came.

Grace licked her lips and let her hair out of the fancy style she'd worn for work. The auburn waves fell carelessly around her face, framing her features. Her delicate fingers toyed with the diamond ring on her finger, and she thought about taking it off. There wasn't any reason to still be wearing it aside from her wounded pride. It would mean she had failed, and Grace wasn't good at admitting defeat. Not in a situation like this, that is. She had kept her promise to herself not to shed a single tear for the one who betrayed her. She no longer felt ashamed or hurt. Now, Grace was simply angered by the whole thing. Why would he do something like that to her? Was she no longer good enough to be his wife? Her fingers found their way deep into her hair, pulling it back from her face. The glass sitting in front of her was looking less and less helpful, and just as a man slid into the chair beside her she ordered a water to cool her spirits.

This man; normally attractive to a woman like Grace saw past all of his masculine features and instead listened to his words. Her eyes found his outstretched hand holding some cash straight away, and as the bartender gave her water to her he took up the money as well. This stranger's hands were callused and rough; signaling to her that he worked hard for that money he just gave away. Really worked instead of saying a few words in front of a camera. A gentle sigh escaped her red tinted lips, a slender smile finding it's way there. She did need to talk, but was she willing to tell this complete stranger her life story?

Her eyes found his and she found that they seemed to hold the entire world in them. This man -- she knew somehow -- that he would know what she was going through. And, even by her better judgment she began her story. His words brought a smile to her face, so the least she could do was respond. "And which part of this scene tells you I need an ear? The dwindling vodka bottle or my disheveled appearance?" She said this as if they were old friends catching up on the news. Her fingers traced circles on the brim of her discarded vodka glass, debating on whether or not she wanted to finish it. The pain in her heart was egging her on, but the mind was telling her that she had an early meeting tomorrow. The pain would still be there in the morning even if she was too hungover to realize it. "I'm Grace, by the way. Grace Langston." she offered her hand as she spoke; handshake was in order for an interesting meeting such as this. Grace was professional, even when she was drowning her sorrows in a local bar.

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[malcolm]

The bartender came near them again, his looming figure a reminder to Malcolm that he still had to pay for the three beers. He waited patiently for the man to serve the woman at his side before passing over the few bills, “Keep the change.” Normally, he wasn’t nearly so generous—that was an eight dollar tip—however the guy behind the bar seemed a little frustrated and worn. Malcolm could relate to having a bad day and eight dollars really wasn’t going to kill him. An hour at work would earn him that wage once more. Besides, he was interested in hearing what the lady had to say, so waiting for change to be counted back wasn’t the most ideal thing at the moment. His eyes moved to the water placed in front of her, wondering if she was already calling it quits or if she had gone through several drinks and was now getting cut off. Was she more drunk than she looked? It didn’t seem as if she was, she just looked utterly depressed.

His lips moved up at the corners some at her smart rebuke, wondering if he should feel chastised or if she was merely joking. Either way, it reeked of self-pity and people only got that way when hurt. The kind that started as a flesh wound and then slowly, the infection spreads until the pain of it all renders you useless. "Actually," Malcolm responded with a soft tone as he levered himself more firmly on the stool, "it wasn't either of those. It was the look in your eyes, as corny as that may sound. Even drinking hasn't made you forget." Of course the man had no idea what he was speaking of--yet. But, it was clear something was bothering her and he had enough sense to realize it. Malcolm wasn't prying, or demanding to know the problem. He was leaving the option open to her, a gentle reminder that he, as a stranger, was willing for her to vent whatever she had so that in the morning, she could get up feeling lighter than she'd had in weeks. And also, knowing that this stranger she'd never see again anyway.

"Besides," he continued, having the urge to brush back the few strands of hair at her face but resisting, "if this is you dishevelled, I'd love to see you at a hundred percent. I'm not sure a man like myself would have any business sitting by you then." Malcolm laughed lightly at his joke, though he was somewhat serious. Even now, with her thinking she looked a fright, this wasn't a woman he'd normally approach or assume he had a chance in hell with. But, she was vulnerable and he was there. He was doing good if she hadn't slapped him yet, right? They were just talking... a harmless past-time. The hand she thrust out in introduction was delicate, and when he grasped it in return, she felt warmer than he thought she would. He had to remind himself to let go. "Malcolm McCulloch," he offered, inclining his head.

[grace isabella langston]

there's a little girl in this little town,
with a little too much heart to go around.
^{- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -}

As this stranger spoke to the bartender, she realized that this tip he was speaking about must have been something generous because the man's eyes went wide and he stuffed the extra bills in his apron pocket straight away. Grace's eyebrow perked in curiosity, given that this man sitting beside her didn't seem the type to be throwing money around like it was extra change. This intrigued her and she gave this man a small smirk. He was one to watch and keep an eye on. However, a simple conversation couldn't hurt anybody. It was when words turned into something more where Grace had problems.

Grace wiped her hair out of her face, but the lock was persistent in being in her eye every second, so she tucked it neatly behind her ear. As the man explained himself she gulped down half the glass of water. Alcohol makes you dehydrated and Grace had consumed more than she'd care to admit. These words that he spoke hit her deep; making her head spin. This person she didn't know could stare right into her soul and know that something was deeply effecting her in such a way to drive her to drinking. "Ah, the eyes. I can't seem to figure out how to mask those yet. Gave me away yet again." She said with a smile, but her eyes still were vacant and disconnected. His presence wasn't demanding anything of her, and she took this into great consideration. He hadn't come over here to try and take her home, but merely to pay his tab and check up on a lonely heart. Because of this, she had a feeling he knew where she was at right now. Down and out with a broken heart.

Grace laughed along with him after his comment on her appearance. Indeed, she would look very torn apart in her own eyes by this point. Her hair was loose about her face, somehow managed to get free of her previous tuck, and her business suit was most likely wrinkled. The top most buttons of her dress shirt were long undone because she felt suffocated. Her whole life these days seemed to give her that feeling of tight claustrophobia. "What about me makes you say, 'a man such as yourself,' wouldn't be sitting beside me, hm?" She tried hard not to take this a compliment, but it had been such a long time since anyone had said something close to a pleasant remark to her.

"Malcolm McCulloch," Grace toyed with the sound of his name on her tongue. The southern twang of her hometown made it sound like an old country song. At least, that's what all of her friends and co-workers told her. Looking down at her glasses again, she bit her bottom lip absently. Her life story was so vast and complex that this man couldn't possibly want to sit here and listen to some strange woman's sob story. No male would ever voluntarily set himself up for something like that, so she would try to keep everything neat and tidy. "Well, a man broke my heart and now I'm trying to find solace in the bottom of a vodka bottle." With a gentle laugh she continued in afterthought, "...and when I say it out loud it sounds downright pitiful."

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[malcolm]

Malcolm watched Grace as she toyed with her hair, obviously disappointed it wouldn't stay in place. "You know a trick my momma always used? She'd just stick something behind her ear, to keep the hair out of her face. Why not try this?" At his words, the man leaned over the counter and plucked one of the umbrella sticks for the more classier, "fruity" drinks and twirled it between his fingers, a smile touching his scruffy appearance briefly. "It might not be a flower but..." He trailed off, taking some liberty to brush the dark locks back from her face--as he'd been want to earlier--and then stuffed the umbrella behind her ear to hold it all in place. Malcolm rocked back on his seat, head tilting as he surveyed his work; the red umbrella suited her complexion, he thought. "Perfect," he muttered, just enough for her to hear.

He quieted down as she chastised herself about her eyes, which he noted was a lovely shade of hazel. "Nonsense," he piqued, brows drawing together at her reasoning. "They're the only things beside our mouth that show any feeling whatsoever. It's a crime to cover that up." Especially since hiding one's feelings was never the way to go. All that managed to do was create a snowball effect until the stress finally made you go haywire. "I mean, there's got to be a reason why they're so beautiful, right? To attract attention.. It's a defense mechanism, sure. But I feel they're a most vulnerable part of us, really." Malcolm blinked, realizing he had gone off on some random tangent about eyes and their usefulness, when the point of this meeting was to let her talk. Funny that. Malcolm wasn't know for being verbose.

His smile was modest, and his eyes moved to the counter to consider his response. She either had no idea how attractive she really was, or she was a mighty coy woman capable of playing such a lovely game. As he didn't know much of her character, Malcolm decided not to assume she was either. His eyes returned to hers as she shrugged, his mien slightly more serious than it had been as his mouth tightened at the edges. "Just what it means, miss. A guy like me would have no business bothering a lady like you--we're two different creatures, almost. But I figured that under the circumstances tonight, I'd give you the attention you deserve." Was he being too forward? He hadn't hit on her or made any suggestive or lewd comments; that wasn't his intention at all. In fact, he'd be in bed by now if he had done as planned.

Malcolm nodded a bit as she repeated his name, interest to see if she planned at all to tell him anything. If she wanted him to go, that was fine. He didn't lose anything but time and that was about all he had on this earth anyway. But if she wanted to talk, that was fine too. He wouldn't have bothered her if he hadn't been serious. Malcolm could listen just fine. Understanding--though it wasn't necessarily shock at this discovery--darkened his eyes. In truth, he could have pegged this woman to be nursing a broken heart. Hell, most women who went on drinking binges usually did so over failed romances. It happened to everyone. "That's not pitiful," he assured her quickly, head moving lower as he leaned closer, so his voice was low enough for only her ears, "it's only natural. Lots of people think that some heavy liquor is going to solve their problems but ma'am, one thing I learned is it ain't a permanent medicine. But time? Well, give it some and I guarantee, that hole you're feeling is going to heal right up, I promise you."

[grace isabella langston]

there's a little girl in this little town,
with a little too much heart to go around.
^{- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -}

When he began playing with her hair she tensed for a moment in complete shock that he simply took charge and matters into his own hands. Grace sat by and let him pin hr hair out of her eyes, and she didn't feel the slightest hesitation toward him. This gesture was sincere and rather helpful, of which she let him know after mumbling an embarrassed thank you for his kindness. "I don't need a flower. Paper umbrellas will do me just fine." His response was barely audible in the bar -- even as the crowd began to clear -- the place was still louder than should be allowed for conversation purposes. "Perfect," she repeated back to him, her eyes finally meeting his as she walked herself through what had just happened. "You're very handy. I'm sure you make your momma proud, Malcolm." Her words seemed to lose steam as her voice caught on his name. His hands were gentle and controlled as they worked, giving her the impression again that he used them to earn a living. He built things with own two hands, and she admired that.

Then, after she had recovered he began speaking about how eyes were the most important aspect to a person's face aside from the mouth, and when he said this word her eyes immediately fell to his lips as they moved in speech. Realizing this, she cleared her throat and turned her gaze back to the half empty glasses sitting in front of her. Really, she didn't know what to say then. Nothing came to her until she caught the word vulnerable. "Well, sometimes a girl just gets tired of being vulnerable," she said this as though she couldn't stop herself and after her words were thrown out there she bit her lip again to stop herself from venturing any further.

After this she noted that his expression had turned a bit more serious and she realized that she might have offended him with her question. However, the fact he was still sitting here gave her the impression that she hadn't done anything of the sort. His words sealed that assumption as well. "Don't kid yourself, Malcolm. We aren't two different creatures. We're both people sitting in a bar on a week night when we should be home. There's nothing different between you and me; not tonight, anyway." she said boldly, taking her remaining vodka in her hand and consuming what was left. The liquid burned her throat and she could feel it lingering in her stomach. The water soon followed, hardly soothing the fire she had sent down a moment before.

With both glasses gone, she called the bartender back over and ordered another drink. This time it wasn't anything close to the punch vodka had. A simple glass of red wine was just what she needed. The less harmful drink always made her mellow out and calmed her nerves. She should have gone with it from the very beginning, but at the time her vision was blurred by the blind hatred she now held for a man she once loved. He told her it wasn't pitiful, but it was hard to feel anything put at this point. "I don't know what I was thinking coming in here in the first place, really. Alcohol didn't do my daddy any good, and here I am trying to get rid of the ache the very same way." She tipped her glass in his general direction as she decided that this would be her last drink of the night. Strictly water from here on out. "And time? Well, time is really all I've got now."

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[malcolm]

Perhaps touching her wasn't the right thing to do just yet, but he hadn't been able to resist. He'd only been trying to help, though as a man who'd trained himself to notice any tiny flaw or imperfection, her stiff tensing hadn't been lost on him. Malcolm gave a short smile, wishing he too now had a drink as something to distract him well. In the end, his fingers covered his wrist and toyed with the watch there, glancing down every so often to make sure he hadn't ruined the time or something. "For you, a flower would be more appropriate," he said lowly, knowing she possibly couldn't hear him. "Like a sunflower... Or somethin'." His voice trailed off again. His eyes found her face, and he withheld the bitter smile her comment made. His momma would be proud? "Oh, I'm sure," he said, though there wasn't much conviction behind the statement. His momma could barely keep the disappointment off her face when she saw him. She'd always help high hopes he'd make something of himself, something other than his father.

The conversation was getting too heavy, though, at least for his end--he had to remind himself, this was about her. Malcolm leaned back, hands splaying across the counter as he gave a teasing smile. "Now what makes you assume that my comment was just about girls, huh? Now ain't that just vain," he joked. Then, in an effort to lighten the mood further, he leaned closer to her ear, as if he was about to part with very grave news indeed. "Let's keep this under wraps now, but us guys... we got some weak spots in us, too. I wouldn't say vulnerability is a bad thing. It's that pride that'll do it for you." The man straightened on the stool, staring at her. "Nothing wrong with asking for help once in a while." What was he, a shrink now? He needed to shut up before he really put a shoe in it.

Now, the twist that came to his lips could be described as nothing but bitter-sweet. She seemed to believe what she was talking about, and maybe that was his fault. He'd used the wrong words to try and get his point across. "Let me rephrase," he asked of her, tone light but his gaze moved back to the watch he tinkered with. "We're from two different worlds, then. Hanging around a bar together is one thing--but do you honestly see us best friends outside of this place?" Malcolm realized after he said this that she'd probably take it the wrong way--it sounded so negative. So he rushed to add, "Not that I wouldn't love the opportunity. I'm just saying, I'm probably not the type of guy a girl like yourself finds solace in." His lips stretched into a rather vacant smile and he shruged for the second time that night.

"Like I said," he replied, waving the bartender down for a glass of water for himself, "it's easy for people to take liquor as a medicine. But the only thing that's going to help is time." As a glass of water was pushed to him, Malcolm paused to gulp half of it down and then scratch his beard thoughtfully. "There was a girl I used to be crazy about, you know. Folks told me she wasn't good for nobody, let alone myself. But she was cute, and she was fiesty. I never thought I'd find someone as lively as she was." He laughed, the sound a bit sorrowful as he remembered it. "Yeah, well... They were right. Turns out she was rocking the worlds of just about all the guys on my street, too. I never thought I'd get over it." His eyes found hers, steady and serious as he said, "But that was a long time ago." Meaning, it didn't hurt so much now.

[grace isabella langston]

there's a little girl in this little town,
with a little too much heart to go around.
^{- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -}

Grace swallowed hard, holing her glass of wine in one hand while the other fussed with the umbrella in her hair. The way Malcolm was letting his words wander was endearing and she smiled gently as he spoke. "I love sunflowers." she stated this simply, crossing her leg one over the other as she turned in her stool to face him. She realized then that the mention of his mother wasn't exactly the best thing to do and she took a nervous sip from her wine glass. Whether it was the liquor talking or her own curiosity getting the best of her she had to ask. "You don't get along well with your momma, do you?" she asked. Grace had a feeling about things like this. Reading body language came easy to her. One of her strengths, however, was not holding her tongue when she had been drinking for a long period of time.

She felt herself wanting to move closer to him; make more of an intimate setting in the loud bar. Having any sort of worth while conversation here wasn't exactly her cup of tea, but it was what she had to work with. She had a man in a bar that was actually holding up his end of the conversation wonderfully in a bar in the middle of the night. Grace wasn't going to let that get her down, though. Listening to him speak she thought for a moment about leaning in to him to hear more clearly, but just as this crossed her mind he did just that. The motion took her again off guard and every nerve in her system was standing on end.

To be honest, he wasn't really that close to her but he might as well been sitting in the same chair as her. It had been a long time since she was this close to a male that she felt her face grow hot. Her mind racing, she forced it to slow down. It was the alcohol surging through her veins, is all. Nothing more than a little bit too much to drink. "Men, vulnerable? They have an Achilles heel too? Who would have thought...?" she said in a coy tone with a smile to match. As he pulled away from her, she tried desperately not to miss the closeness. This was exactly what she didn't need right now. While getting over one man she wasn't about to pick up another. Even though she wanted very much to she regained her composure and finished off the glass of wine; promptly asking for a large glass of water as a chaser.

After a sip of her water she began to feel a little more like herself again. For a few minutes there she thought she was going off the deep end. "Really, I'm not sure what type of girl you think I am. Me; I'm not important in a grade scale. You and me; were the same deep down." As she said this, she pressed her hand to her chest. Truth be told that Grace was born and raised in a larger city but she was a country girl at heart. She loved working outdoors and being in nature, but her fashionable three piece attire was leading him in the wrong direction. Grace shouldn't care how this stranger viewed her, but she felt compelled to set him straight. "I don't know what I'd do if I was cooped up in an office for the rest of my life. This--" she said, pointing to her blazer on the back of her stool and over her outfit, "--this is just for show. I'm a country girl at heart...and I like you Malcolm. You aren't like those corporate brown nosers I have to share the coffee pot with."

Yes, Grace was beginning to feel the effects of her nightly escapade right about now. She hoped that she wouldn't embarrass herself to the point she felt the need to bury herself in a hole later. As Malcolm jumped into his story about a girl he knew -- whom he loved -- Grace felt herself sympathizing with him. As he spoke she laid a hand on his in a way to show him that she understood. She did understand; more than he knew."Well, it just goes to show that women aren't perfect angels either...and it's always painful when you realize your parents were right." After she spoke she sat back in her chair, legs crossed and her gaze fixed on his face. She studied him for a moment, then took a sip from her glass of water. This soothed the fire in her gut, making her feel more alive than the alcohol had. As she studied his features, she thought for a moment longer before she spoke, "I'm glad to see that there is light at the end of this tunnel I'm in. You made it, so maybe I can too."

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