The Ugly Duckling
...
Kit needed grounding after a long day, and the Ugly Duckling fit the bill quite nicely. Shae would be with him, but the fatigue that dogged them had taken them over again. It was happening less these days, he suspected that they were more comfortable in themself, but that wasn’t to say it would ever go away entirely. As it was, the small wick had no issue with being bundled up in blankets and quilts and cushions in their own cosy and colourful room, plied with tea and left to slip quietly into a comfortable stupor. The older musician had been adamant on separate rooms in their new flat- he wanted a comforting place for Shae that was utterly their own, that they could retreat to when Kit was having one of his bouts of insomnia, or they were feeling unwell.
He smiled at the memory of slipping a steaming cup into their small, grasping hands, two-thirds full so as not to spill if they shook. They had smiled up at him wanly as he dropped a swift kiss on their dark hair, and he’d winked with a smile, closing the door softly behind him.
...
Raucous singing erupted from a nearby table, and the man joined them absently, recognising the song. He had drunk enough by now that his notes rang louder than intended, his clear baritone more tuneful by far than the other would-be performers.
“...gold in great store...never shall play the wild rover no more and it’s no nay neverrrrr”
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
His foot automatically stamped the flagstones, his fist thudding the tabletop in time.
It was the last line of the chorus that had heads turning to look at him, his strong baritone belting it out, instinctively accented with the melodic ornaments he was so used to throwing into his performances. Those runs and mordents trickled into the harsh lines of the shanty, and, halfway through the song, his voice was the only one still singing...
“No never, nooo moooore!”
“Shut yer head, ye toffin!” yelled one deck hand, tossing what might have been a half eaten apple at the musician- Kit couldn’t tell, fending it off with the back of a hand- but one of his companions thumped the back of the thug’s head.
“You lugger, that’s Edevane…” and the rest of the words trailed off, lower than Kit could make out.
“Sorry lads, can’t resist a tune.” Dragging himself out of his daydream, the golly pulled his most charming smile from his back pocket, pushing himself out of his seat.
“Tell you what,” and he raised his voice loud enough to carry to the landlady, “Alice? Toss out a round for these fine gentlemen, my love?”
The woman glared daggers at him from across the bar.
“Ye’ll come here and pay up front, ye divil...but aye.”
…
Barely a half-hour later, he was standing on one of the thrice-repaired tables, belting out “whiskey in the jar”, tankard in one hand, lit cigarillo in the other…
It was only a matter of time before something broke. This time, it was the woodwormed edge of the table, and the golly found himself tumbling through space.
...meet me in the gutter, make the devil your friend...