Drew Fitzpatrick walked behind his classmates along Westmoreland Street in Dublin. He and several other University of Kentucky students had traveled to Ireland over the summer to study Irish Literature 427, and tonight they had the night off. They had decided to go to two legendary Dublin pubs, The Brazen Head and the Temple Bar. The Brazen Head is the oldest pub in Ireland, and the Temple Bar is a nightlife destination for Dubliners and foreign visitors alike.
From what he'd heard, Drew wasn't looking forward to the bar. It seemed to be a stereotypical nightclub, complete with a "musician" pressing buttons on a laptop to play dubstep and house music, and sluts and bros dancing while high on various substances. Drew was very much a metal and folk music fan; he vastly preferred what he considered to be real musicians playing real instruments, whether they were the electric versions in metal bands or the acoustic versions in folk groups, and drunk on good old-fashioned whiskey and beer.
He ceased his musically supremacist reverie to once again count the heads of the fellow students in front of him. As the biggest of the group at six feet four and two hundred thirty pounds of muscle, he used his size to keep an eye on the other students. He kept his bright blond hair at a medium length, stylishly combed away from his face, and gazed upon the world through apple-green eyes. He looked like a blond Henrik Lundqvist, the handsome and phenomenal New York Rangers goalie. He wasn't too worried about someone being assaulted, he was more afraid of someone being distracted by something and then losing the group.
In front of him strode Laura, who was the youngest of the group at eighteen. She had the grace of a dancer, and was frequently hit on while the group was out and about, despite the ring she placed on her left ring finger to combat that very occurrence.
Ahead of her was Hope, the oldest of the group and the comic relief. Her stories, with myriad vocal changes and wild gesturing, frequently led the others in the group to fits of laughter ending with tears streaming down their faces and bad cases of the hiccups.
Seth, always singing incorrect lyrics to various pop songs in no semblance of proper key signature when he wasn't shooting pictures through his expensive digital SLR camera, strode ahead of her. He was currently butchering Lady Gaga while surreptitiously shooting pictures of Bethany's ass, who walked in front of him. Bethany, the stereotypical beauty queen, (although she was far from unintelligent) sauntered with the intent and the hip swaying to dominate every eye, generating lustful looks from men and envious glares from women.
Ahead of her was Shannon, who Drew had gotten to know pretty well. He personally thought her far and away more attractive than Bethany. Although he had nothing against tall, willowy blonde girls with great figures, he preferred the natural look, and Bethany was obviously naturally a brunette who could tan well; she almost seemed like a Simpsons character in terms of coloration. The combination of a deep tan and platinum blonde hair seemed unnatural to Drew.
Shannon, on the other hand, had naturally wavy brown-sugar hued hair she wore long, bright blue eyes, and a more athletic, curvy figure than Bethany. She looked like the volleyball player she was, with long legs and a perfect amount of muscle.
She didn't try as hard as Bethany did, either; she knew she was attractive, and dressed stylishly yet simply. Tonight, she wore boot cut jeans over cowgirl boots, and a deep purple polo shirt. Leading the group was Sean, who was the undisputed champion navigator of the group. Having never been to Ireland before, all he had to do was look at a map once and he knew exactly where to go, even if the map was crudely drawn on a pub napkin. His skill in keeping the group on the right track made Drew more than a little jealous.
As they crossed the street into more of the nightlife district of Dublin, they began to see street performers in greater numbers. Drew had grown up in Green Bay, Wisconsin, and had never really come across people performing music in the street. He was blown away by the talent of the individuals they passed. One man played a Chapman stick, a sort of hybrid guitar and bass, and he created his own harmonies in addition to melodies by tapping the strings with all ten fingers instead of using the traditional pick-and-four-fingers method. "That dude should be playing a bar, I'd pay a cover to see him," Drew thought to himself.
Finally, the group found themselves on the outside of the bar. The pounding beat of a dubstep song assaulted them as they stood in front, making change amongst themselves for the cover fee. He noticed Shannon's less-than-enthused expression and leaned in. "What do you think?" he asked.
"I think this would be a colossal waste of ten Euros," she replied. "Wanna ditch?"
"Sure. I saw an ad on a lamppost for a traditional Irish band closer to the school. Want to head there?" He asked.
"That sounds brilliant, I've been wanting to listen to some good traditional music before I left here. Anything beats this garbage. It sounds like a fax machine and a dial up modem having rough sex," she rolled her eyes.
Drew had taken a swig of the bottle of water he'd been carrying and almost spat it out for laughing. "Well, that's one way of putting it. Hey guys, we're going to head back. This isn't quite our scene, there's a trad band we're going to check out closer to the school. We'll see you!"
"Are you sure? I mean, it's safer in numbers."
Before Drew could speak, Shannon cut in. "Come on, Drew's the hardest hitter on UK's hockey team. We'll be fine."
As they walked off, he turned and asked, "How'd you know how hard I hit on the ice?"
"Are you kidding me? I never miss a home game. My friends and I are pre-vet majors and go to games to blow off steam."
"Wait a minute. You're in that group that always sat behind the visitor's bench and heckled them worse than we did, weren't you?" Drew replied as he thought of the few times he took his eyes off the ice.
"Yep, that's us!"
He laughed as he recalled some of the more colorful insults hurled at the opposing bench. "You guys were rough. Some of those guys almost looked like they were about to cry."
She laughed. "Those were probably your hits that made them tear up. Seriously, we can tell when you hit. When you tag someone on the boards, it's louder than anybody else."
Drew wasn't really used to such a reaction from someone when he discussed hockey. Typically, their eyes glazed over at hearing about a sport so few Kentuckians understood. Despite that, he was actually a bit shy, so he decided to change the tack of the conversation. "That's what I do. Bang bodies, take up space, break up plays, and score and scrap every now and then. So you mentioned you were pre-vet?"
Her ice-blue eyes brightened. "Yep, I want to work with horses. I grew up on a small horse farm in southeast Lexington, so I've always been around horses. What do you want to do?"
"Police work runs in my family. My dad was in the 101st Airborne during Viet Nam, and afterwards he became a SWAT officer in Green Bay. My mom is a detective in Green Bay too, so I plan on doing the same thing."
