Bristol always seemed like such a nightmare to get around, nevermind find a place to park. Despite the presence of two major multistories, the signs bearing the familiar blue square with the white 'P' which appeared everywhere promised much, but never quite seemed to deliver. Pete had set out early enough from his home in Axbridge - about forty minutes drive out of the city - but had spent the last ten minutes driving around looking for parking spaces which apparently only existed on signage.

As he rolled slowly through the traffic he turned the volume of his car stereo down a few notches. A little Babylon Zoo had been useful in getting him to Bristol in good time, but it wasn't helping his rising frustration at finding somewhere to park. It made him more glad than ever that he hadn't chosen to listen to the Tabbi Davio CD on the journey; he didn't want to be feeling angry about the music he was going to be playing for the rest of the week.

He took a deep breath and tried to count his blessings. Things with the band seemed to be going nowhere fast. Interested parties came, and interested parties went. Nothing ever seemed to transpire. Then, out of the blue, a friend of a friend of a benevolent benefactor called Rodger Darling asks if Pete would be available to session for Tabbi Davio. Who now? Wait...that girl guitarist off the internet? He couldn't hide the fact that playing second fiddle to a girl in the guitar arena left an uncomfortable feeling in his gut. But at the same time he couldn't deny that with her talent and success online, there was only one way Tabbi Davio was going, and that was up. It made sense to grab onto that wagon while it was passing, see if it didn't give Pete a bit of momentum.

After making sure that the offer from Rodger wasn't some pie-in-the-sky nonsense and that Tabbi was in fact coming to play gigs in the UK, he'd ripped all the songs he could online, and over the past ten days or so it had enjoyed a lot of playtime on his MP3 player. And not only because he'd had to learn the songs (along with some new material he'd been sent in demo form via Rodger), but because he'd genuinely been impressed by how consistently good her songs were. No high points or low points, just evocatively shifting moods and dynamics.

All this added up to an important reality; playing rhythm guitar for Tabbi's show wasn't just a welcome privalege and a significant feather in his cap, it was a lot to live up to.

~~~~~~~~~~

When he eventually got to the Colston Hall, it seemed like there was hardly anyone about. He hadn't had a chance to pick up his performers pass yet; otherwise he'd have been entitled to park out the back of the building. There were one or two people flitting in and out of the theatre, where the stage was no doubt being set up for rehearsals. He had two guitars in gig-bags slung on his back; Rodger had agreed to bring along Pete's amp stack in his own van so with any luck that was already on stage.

He stood by the box office desk for a few moments, wondering if there was anyone he needed to announce himself to. Fact was, he was to all intents and purposes a nobody and the stage was being set up for someone who was, if not a A-lister, still pretty famous and certainly much loved by the fans who'd be packing out the place later that day. Was he supposed to just waltz on in? Or if he didn't waltz on in, would he end up with an angry agent chewing his ear off about punctuality?

He took a deep breath and made his way towards the door marked 'stalls', which was propped over with a fire extinguisher. Walking in quietly, he looked up and saw a few stage hands up on the main platform, mainly laying down gaffer tape and spooling out microphone leads. He couldn't immediately see anyone who looked important, so he walked up onto the stage, propped his guitars up in the wing, and waited to see if Rodger's face would appear...or anyone else who seemed to know what was going on.

Tabbi was sulking. After playing some pretty prominent venues in Chicago, Cincinnati and even as far as Detroit, she had imagined that coming as far as England would mean bigger things than she had seen since getting off the plane in Southampton ("Where?") to then drive an hour and a half up to Bristol ("Again...where??"). The hall seemed nice enough; it wasn't huge but it would seat a decent number. It just didn't seem as...prestigious as she'd hoped. Not that she had delusions of grandeur. She supposed it was simply that she imagined the greatness of a venue should be in proportion to the trouble you went to to get to it. And the transatlantic flight had been pure hell. They'd boarded a plane at 3:25pm on Monday, and got off the plane sixteen hours later (including a change in Atlanta and a 4 hour stopover in Paris!) at 10:40am local time Tuesday. She was jetlagged, exhausted, and grumpy. Add hungry to the equation and you have yourself a party.

Not far away on the stage her uncle Lance - who was also her producer and agent - was speaking in anxious tones to some English guy whom she had heard him call "Colin". Colin seemed to be trying to placate him, but it wasn't doing much good since Lance, like Tabbi, was overtired and irritable.

Somewhere nearby, there was a metalic banging. Tabbi frowned and looked around, to see if there was anyone who was going to attend to it, whatever it was. But when the banging came a seconde time, she sat up with an angry huff, and wandered in the direction of the noise. It was the stage door, which for some reason was closed even though a few stage hands had been in the middle of bringing things in from the van. (She was still waiting to see her beloved Trans Black Schecter C-1 emerge since all her gear had been sent ahead.) Pushing the door, she saw a rather doddery, portly man in his sixties standing there with a saft grin. His eyes lit up when he laid eyes on her.

"Goodness!" he said, in the richest English accent she'd heard since landing, "I was expecting one of the staff! You must be Tabbi."

"Yeah...hi," she said, her face somewhat blank and no doubt fairly pale, "you the manager here?"

"Gracious no!" the man laughed, "Name's Rodger Darling. I've been in communiqué with your uncle about getting all this together for you."

"Oh, right, yeah." Tabbi saidm stepping aside to let him in. "I'm pretty sure I remember him saying. Nice to meet you anyway."

"Pleasure's all mine!" Rodger replied with a bright smile. The old man proceeded down the hall and onto the stage, evidently finding Lance and reaquainting himself enthusiastically with her uncle.

Tabbi sighed and moved back to the beat up leather couch she's found just outside of the stage wings. It was the most comfortable place to just flake for a little while. If she didn't get a little rest before tonight's show...well, suffice to say it wouldn't be much of a show...

Pete had been stood around listening to the stage hands being bossed about by some guy who was either a manager at the hall, or belonged to Tabbi Davio's production company. It was difficult to tell, because the man was obviously suffering a lack of sleep and an excess of caffeine.

Before long however, he heard a familiar voice, and turned to see Rodger come onto the stage from the opposite wing. The man who had been shouting was noticed first, so Pete stood off to the side while Rodger and 'Lance' (as his name transpired to be) greeted each other. Lance's mood seemed to improve slightly on seeing Rodger, and they immediately launched into a discussion about the preparations for tonight's show. Pete wasn't sure of Rodger had requisitioned all of the supporting musicians for the gig, or just Pete, but nobody else seemed to have showed up. Unless they were already elsewhere rehearsing together waiting for Pete...that would just be typical.

"Oh by the way..." Pete heard Rodger say in suddenly hushed tones, "...the guitar chap I've arranged to come, he's absolutely brilliant, but I should let you know that he isn't...well, he just...isn't...you know."

"What?!" Lance exclaimed, before quickly suppressing the volume of his own voice as well, "OK...ok...that's not wonderful but it's only three nights, I'm sure we can manage it. Why though? Could you really not find anyone who...is...?"

"This isn't America, Lance." Rodger said firmly, "This is Britain, and it's the same anywhere in Europe. There's just not so many of us these days. And anyway the boy deserves a chance, this will be good for him and I know he'll be up to the standard you need."

"Fine." Lance huffed. "Well as long as all three of them turn up then we'll make something work out of it."

Pete decided this would be a good time to make his presence know, so he gently cleared his throat and stepped out from the darkness of the wing.

"Hi Rodger." he said, trying to act as if he hadn't heard anything. "Am I the first one here or am I in the wrong place?"

"Pete!" Rodger said, a look of anxious shock spreading on his face as he clearly tried to gauge if any of his conversation with Lance had been overheard. As for Lance himself, the weary looking middle-aged man turned to look at Pete, and simply stood, wordless and expressionless, with his fists balled on his hips. "No no you're in the right place. Just on time too. Don't know if you saw but you're amp's already set up, I brought it in the van earlier, but went to get some lunch and ended up getting shut out, don't you know! Anyway, glad you're here. Um...why don't you plug in just check that everything's in order, and show Lance a few of your skills."

Rodger turned to the curious man, and although Pete couldn't see Rodger's face, he somehow got the impression that Rodger was either mouthing something or just pulling a certain expression.

"Yeah, sure, will do." Pete said, shaking his head and pulling out his guitar and plugging it into the amplifier which he found set sure enough among a few other speaker cabinets, by the looks of things already powered up and sporting an auxiliary output lead to the sound desk. Pretty efficient.

Slinging the guitar over his shoulder, he played a couple of basic riffs, ramping up the volume knob on the guitar to check the amp wasn't pumped too high too fast, adjusted a few dials on the amp itself, then stood back and launched into the opening licks of one of the songs he'd written with the band, keeping his back to Lance and Rodger, not wanting to be put off by their expressions or reactions.

Tabbi was almost at the point of drifting off to sleep. There was really only one kind of sound that wouldn't cause her great annoyance at the point; and it so happened that that was the exact sound that piqued her ears. She opened her eyes and looked towards the stage. She couldn't see anyone from where she was, but she could hear the sound of a guitar being played, resonating around the empty hall.

Her first thought was that her guitar had finally been unloaded, and that a tech was setting it up and testing it out. The riffs she was hearing were very well played, but it wouldn't be the first time she'd come across a crew member who was also an awesome player; if anything it was the norm.

She stood up and quickly paced out onto the stage, looking for the source of the music. Her initial response was one of disappointment when she realised that the person playing wasn't a tech, and more to the point didn't have her guitar. Her brow lowered and she skulked over towards Lance, folding her arms and yawning.

"Hey," she grunted, "I gotta eat something and get some sleep somewhere before I just pass out. Mind if I get out of here and find some food?"

Her uncle shot her a stern look and sighed. "Can it wait until Julian gets back? I don't really want you wandering around town alone. They don't build on the block system here and it's a rats nest out there."

"Julian and Crystal went to eat without me?" Tabbi snapped. "Why the hell should I have to wait for them to get back?"

"Not up for discussion Tabbi," Lance growled, "you were dozing out the back when they went. You should have slept on the plane like they did."

Tabbi thinned her lips and looked away, her gaze falling on the guy playing guitar. For the first time she got a little curious about who he was. She figured he must be one of her backup musicians for the shows. Shooting a glance at her uncle, she nodded towards the boy and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, uh yeah." Lance said hesitantly, "This is....um....?"

"Pete." Rodger filled in for him. "Your rhythm guitarist for the week."

Tabbi nodded slowly, listening to Pete play for a few moments longer. He knew his stuff, that was for sure. Her songs didn't require the rhythm guitarist to do anything technically demanding; mostly just playing the same basic riff or chord structure under her lead parts, but she did like to give her other musicians slots in certain songs to bring a little something of their own. This guys seemed like he could handle that.

She slowly paced around him to get a look at his face, before quickly dropping her eyes to the guitar he was playing. It was a nice one; like a super-strat but she'd not seen the exact model before.

"What'chya playing?" she said simply, here eyes still on the instrument.

Pete was vaguely aware of someone coming around beside him, which he chose to ignore at first, beginning to rather get into the vibe of the song he was playing and also eager to impress 'Lance' (not that he entirely knew who Lance was in the whole equation yet. But when he heard the female American voice, he did stop playing and looked up. Somehow, he knew who it would be before he even saw. Even so, when he saw, he only half recognised.

It was definitely the girl he'd seen on the internet. Just a tired, run-down version of the same. Her hair was pulled back tightly, her eyes looked dark from sleep-deprivation, and her expression hardly exuded joy and enthusiasm. And yet, for it all, he felt that distinct knot form in a guy's stomach when he'd met face to face with someone he finds irresistibly attractive. The fact that she's a shit hot guitarist is probably a factor too, he thought to himself.

He hesitated in answering, because the truth was he'd been playing one of his own songs, and he didn't want it to seem to Tabbi like he was trying to plug his own material when he was support to be supporting her. Even so, he just couldn't resist finding out what she'd thought of it, so he opened his mouth to tell her it was a song he'd written...when he noticed the path of her gaze and realised she was talking about what guitar he was playing.

"Oh, um, it's a Pensa." he said, stammering a little, "It's...pretty versatile, should be able to get most of the right sounds for your songs without changing guitars.

He turned to face her, standing up straight like a trooper faced with his general. Except in this case, his general was a five-foot-hardly-anything girl who looked ready to snap at anyone who said the wrong thing, and who he also knew was an even better guitarist than him. That last fact alone had been hard to swallow, but now that he was face to face with her it was somewhat awe inspiring...he didn't know if he'd even be able to believe that she really could play so well (and that the Youtube videos weren't just some particularly convincing miming trickery) until he saw it for himself.

Tabbi shot him an irritable look when he fumbled over his answer. It wasn't that he'd done anything wrong, she just felt incredibly impatient. When the answer finally did come, she nodded and looked the guitar from end to end. It certainly was a beauty, and furthermore it had a Floyd-Rose tremolo and a fast looking neck, making it look like the kind of guitar you could shred out some solos on. So perhaps Pete could be given a little space to play in...time would tell.

"It's nice." she said rather tonelessly. "I've not seen one before."

She lifted her eyes to study his face briefly and discreetly. She wasn't sure what she'd imagined British men to look like, but he wasn't it. He had rugged features, mussy dark blonde hair, he wore an American style check shirt and bootleg jeans...not quite inline with what she's seen of the "Brit-rock" look. But there was something else about him that was conspicuous. Not just conspicuous, but conspicuous by it's absence. And then it hit her. He wasn't a wolf. He had barely any scent about him at all, and what scent he did have was an extremely virile, alluring, but nevertheless entirely artifical fragrance.

She sent a knowing look across to Lance, who simply nodded and shrugged, tilting his head towards Rodger indicating that he was the one who'd brought him. Tabbi had known immediately that Rodger was a wolf, although his scent identified him as being from a European pack even more prominently than his accent did. She sighed and thinned her lips again, turning back to Pete.

"Hope you got on alright with the parts." she said brusquely, "We'll run through them all a couple of times before tonight when the other guys get here, but first I gotta go out get something to eat."

"When Julian gets back." Lance chipped in from behind her. She whirled around looking at her uncle darkly.

"I'm not waiting for them, they could be gone hours." she said firmly, "We need to practice, so I can't sit around."

She turned back to Pete, "Have you eaten yet?"

Lance looked over at the human, his face a complex expression of irritation and resignation. He knew Tabbi was right; they needed to leave time to practice, and Julian and Chrystal did have a habbit of taking...long lunch breaks. The old wolf gritted his teeth. If Pete was willing to escort Tabbi out to find somewhere to eat, then it would have to do.

It was strangely satisfying for Pete that he'd managed to bring along a guitar that interested Tabbi. It was surprising she hadn't seen one before; Pensa's were made in London and not widely exported. But in a way it felt like a good first impression....even though it pertained only to the intrument. She seemed barely to have regarded him personally, but her exchange with Lance a moment later shed some light on the reason for that. She was hungry, in addition to looking tired. Something about having to wait for some other people...maybe that other musicians? Where were they after all? Had Pete simply turned up too early? It was already quarter past one, it wasn't like they had all the time in the world to get ready for tonight's show.

"Not really," he replied to the question she directed at him; the implication of which was obvious enough, "but there's plenty of places close by, we could be gone and be back ready to practice in less than an hour."

Yet again, there was a strange sensation that he was being afforded another chance to compound a good first impression...and nothing to do with that impression was related in any way to his playing ability. He could only hope that disappointment wouldn't be the result of that coming under scrutiny...but that said, he'd simply nodded when she said she hoped he was OK with the parts. They were all basic riffs and chords to form a rhythm bed for her solos, so it was actually not very demanding at all.

He unslung his guitar and propped it up next to his amplifier. The stage crew could decide exactly where it needed to go. For now, he stepped towards the three other, glancing at the girl he'd met not three minutes ago, by whom he was slightly intimidated for the very fact that she was better than him at the thing he loved the most, and whom he was about to take out for lunch. And who's boss/manager/agent/whoever Lance was was eyeing Pete up very suspiciously.

"OK well that settles it." Tabbi said brusquely to her uncle, "I'll just go get my jacket."

She disappeared backstage for a moment, during which Lance sighed and stared at Pete. It was far from ideal, but the middle aged werewolf had to admit that if they were back in America he probably wouldn't have had a problem with it. It was mainly because they were so far from home, and in the territory of another pack (notwithstanding that one member of the resident pack - Rodger - was an old friend) that he was so reluctant to send Tabbi out without another trusted member of her kind.

"Rollin' out." came Tabbi's voice as she returned, now sporting a cropped denim jacket over her black tank top and black skinny jeans. She walked straight past the three males on stage, and out into the atrium where doors led out onto the street on both sides of the building. She waited for Pete to catch up and indicate which way to go, and followed him with a wordless nod of her head.

Her mind was on two things alone; her hunger, and how pissed off she was that Julian and Chrystal hadn't waited for her before going to lunch. Life in the pack could be so parochial and stifling. Sure, she understood why they had to exercise a certain amount of discretion. Most humans were gullible and easily distracted, but you never knew when you'd run into that one who had a bit more nouse, a bit more savvy, a bit more of a propensity to ask the wrong questions and notice things you didn't want them to notice. Like how you always had to go to a family meeting 'out of town' once a month. Always coinciding with the full moon.

She folded her arms and kept pace with Pete, if anything striding rather quickly. She couldn't help it; she was starving and angry. It wasn't until Pete had to give the first verbal instruction about which direction to go that she looked up and even really noticed him again. Her face softened a little. It wasn't in her nature to deliberately ignore the company she was with, but all her erstwhile ailments were playing havoc with her already eccentric social skills. Truth was, he seemed nice. Friendly, helpful, genuine...pleasant to look at which was always a plus.

"OK cool," she said, following him a little more closely and trying to seem grateful, "man I'd be lost in minutes here. You Brits ever heard of a straight road?"

It was certainly an awkward moment while Tabbi left the stage area. At first, Pete tried to smile benignly at 'Lance', but it seemed that none of his charm was sufficient to soften the rough and rugged looking man's cold demeanour. Charitably, he put it down to the same affliction that Tabbi was suffering; probably just tiredness and stress about putting on the show tonight. He looked across at Rodger, who had busied himself with his mobile phone. The old man was touching the screen slowly and uncertainly, his face screwed up in concentration. Clearly not quite up to speed with how his smartphone worked. Typical Rodger.

Pete was quite relieved when Tabbi returned and struck out off the stage and into the auditorium, past the stalls and through the door into the box office area. He'd hoped for just one definite word of approval for the outing, but clearly the female guitarist was far less concerned about any spoken permission, and so Pete had little choice but to leave Lance and Rodger behind and hurry out after her.

Trying not to seem too much like a lapdog, he caught up with her and slowed to her pace, which was nevertheless still pretty brisk.

"Alright," he said, "the place I was thinking of is near Castle Park, just out this way."

As he led, he couldn't kid himself that she was interested in making small talk, or indeed doing any talking or anything else other than getting to where food was. She walked like a girl with a purpose, and Pete stayed alongside her, giving gentle promptings about when to cross the road, take a turning, etc. Deep down he felt a natural urge to use this opportunity to have a one-to-one with a rising star, but he was sure that he'd have been barking up the wrong tree. She was clearly in no mood to chat.

"Just cross here." he said, "That's Castle Park, we can cut through there and then there's a few places to eat."

He looked across at her, and caught her glancing at him. Her question sounded like an attempt at warming up, and he couldn't help but smile in relief.

"No straight roads would make too much sense." he replied, "My turn; have you ever heard of a Cornish Pasty?"

Tabbi blinked and stared at Pete, not immediately realising that he was making a joke about the straight roads. Her mental state probably didn't aid her, nor the fact that he followed it with a question of his own pertaining to something very bizarre sounding.

"Um, no," she said uncertainly, "I'm guessing it's something you eat?"

Pasty...sounded a bit like 'pastry'. In truth she would have quite happily ravaged anything from a cheeseburger to a full t-bone steak.

"If it's got meat in it then I'm willing to give it a try." she nodded resolutely, folding her arms in front of her again, not so much from feeling cold as to reassure her growling stomach that it's suffering should soon be at an end. She'd never met a single one of her kind who could stomach a vegetarian dish.

The sky above certainly looked pretty grey. She'd heard that about England, but somehow she'd expected it to be extra grey...whatever that meant. Really it just looked like a cloudy day back home. Scanning the streets the people looked pretty normal to her. Apart from the windy streets and the unfamiliar signage and brandings, she really didn't feel that much like she was thousands of miles away from Illinois. The only thing that was different was the distinct absence of the presence of other wolves. There wasn't a hint of scent even after they'd traversed several streets. Back in Chicago, it seemed like every tenth person you passed was a lycan. Of course, you'd have to be one yourself to tell.

Looking across at Pete, she mulled over the question of why she'd ended up with a human playing in her band. Lance and the others at "HatM Records" were unwavering in their taking of of lycan talent. But Pete had been introduced by that guy Rodger...not that she really knew who Rodger was in the big picture. But perhaps the rules were simply a bit more lax in England. Or maybe werewolves were simply much harder to come by.

Even so, it wasn't a problem for her. As long as he could play well, and help her find something to eat, then she was quite happy to have him on board.

"So Pete," she said, making another lunge at trying to be amiable, "you're obviously serious about guitar; you play the Bristol scene much? Have a band? Pro? Semipro?"

"It is." he said with a soft grin, plotting out in his head the route to where he'd decided to take her. He had no idea how keen Tabbi was to sample British or regional culture (not that a bloody Cornish pasty was a particularly unique West Country feature anymore...and they were seperated from Cornwall by two other counties anyway...) but he thought she'd be more interested in trying something new than trying something she already knew from America but being disappointed by the much smaller scale.

"Oh yes, plenty of meat in one of these suckers." he assured her, smiling at her forthright insistance on what she wanted to have. One of the perks of having a non-vocal act; you could eat whatever you wanted before going up to perform.

They crossed another street and skirted around the large rectacular grass enclosure, within which was the remains of an old abbey church. He glanced over at the building, wondering if she was at all curious about the town itself, or the local history. He had the unique advantage of not having lived in the area from birth, so he'd been in Somerset long enough to know it's interesting features, but no so long for him to lose sight of why anyone from outside could possibly be interested in seeing them.

But perhaps not now. Tabbi was clearly focused on eating, and he was starting to feel pretty pecking himself.

"Yeah actually," he replied to her question, twisting his body to face her slightly and throwing her a friendly smile, "I have a band, we're trying to get up the funds to record a proper EP or something. Tried to get my foot in the door for a bit of session work but not getting many bites. Actually Rodger really helped me out by getting me this opportunity. So, yeah thanks for letting me in on it...I've been really looking forward to it."

He coughed awkwardly and flushed a little. She didn't look at all as though she was in the mood for having smoke blown up her ass, and no doubt she had a bellyfull of people telling her how awesome she was, so he omitted to say anything to that effect.

Up ahead the "West Cornwall Pasty Co." was just coming into view, and he steered the two of them in it's direction.

Tabbi hummed and nodded at his answer. It was pretty much what she'd expected. She'd lost count of the number of musicians she'd come across who had a sack of talent, a few published CDs and a considerable fan-base, but still hadn't "made it". Pete seemed to be shaping up to be another one of those. She tried to remind herself that even with skills it wasn't so easy for humans. HatM were often more eager to snatch up their pool of artists for fear of them trying to go with a human label, so lycans naturally found themselves in a smaller pond; easier to be a big fish.

"Yeah...about Rodger," she said, "who is that guy again? Is he your agent? Do you....."

She paused, checking her next question for any sense that it might be giving away her exact thoughts, which were whether or not Pete knew of or believed in werewolves.

"...know him well?"

They came up in front of the store and Tabi looked into the window, her eyes widened and her lips parting in amazement. If Pete had been aiming to show her something not quite like anything she'd seen before, then he'd wrapped that up. Not that it was anything particularly dumbfounding. They were basically just pastries like she'd guessed. She'd just never seen so many different varieties of anything that all looked so much...that same. Letting loose a gentle laugh she leaned in, peering at the different labels, and catching a generous whaft of the mouthwatering smell as another customer opened the shop door.

"What are those things?" she giggled, "Oh my god...Chicken Balti...what is that, like, curry?? And look at the size o' that one."

Straightening up she grinned across at Pete. "Nice call my friend, I think I gotta get me one of these."

She pushed the door open and went in, looking along the counter at some of the other foods on offer. Her lupine olfactory system was assailed by the scent of baking, spices potatoe wedges and coffee. Once again she couldn't help but chuckle at the ecclectic array, but the growling of her stomach wouldn't permit her to spent all afternoon just looking at it.

"Who's next please?" the young man behind the counter called out, looking directly at Tabbi who was, in reality, the only person standing waiting to buy.

"Hey," Tabbi said, "can I get a....'Cornish Pasty'; the big one right? One of those and a coffee please."

"Rodger?" Pete laughed, imagining the thought of that doddery old fool managing anything effectively. "No he just seems to be a jack of all trades, has a finger in a lot of different pies and now and again he comes up with something useful. Other than that he's just a friend of a friend of a friend. I really don't know him that well at all."

The sight of the shop made Pete realise just how hungry he was also. Up until that point he'd been too distracted by nerves and concentration on getting everything right and ready for later, but now it was obvious that the timing to go to lunch had been perfect. And a pasty seemed like just the ticket.

Of course the downside to bringing Tabbi to a chain-restaurant was that there wasn't just traditional pasties on sale, but all sorts of weird and wonderful variations, and he laughed when she remarked on a couple.

"Yeah...curry." he said with a shrug, "They say curry is England's national dish these days. I'd start with something a little more standard."

When she grinned at him it was the first time he'd really seen her smile since they met. What a difference it made; she certainly had a very striking smile that lit up her whole face. Her face was something he'd not seen much of; all the Youtube videos had been upper-body shots of her holding her guitar and playing her songs, or else simply moving pictures with her song playing as background music. It seemed a shame that someone so pretty should publish themselves so widely on the internet whilst all the time keeping their face hidden. Then again, this wasn't a pop-star beauty contest, this was instrumental guitar. Her cute smile could probably have been a cheap way to earn her some extra fans, so if anything, the fact that she'd kept her face out of the picture for the most part was worthy of respect.

Pleased that she was happy with his choice of eatery, he followed her in and stood behind her as she ordered. After that, the shop assistant looked across at Pete, asking if he and Tabbi were together. Pete was about to answer yes, but then realised that the question was really about whether they were paying together. And with his mind still fogged by the pretty smile she'd given him outside, his masculine instinct was to offer to pay for the whole lot. However, something more rational won the day; Tabbi didn't seem like the kind of girl who wanted to be a pampered little princess, and chivalry was hardly at issue here.

He left the question unanswered, and simply placed his own order. "Steak and stilton pasty, and a coffee also, cheers."

The clerk simply nodded and punched the order into the till at the same time. He then instructed them to take a seat and that the food would be brought over. But not before offering them a cup of potatoe wedges to go with it, which Pete politely declined.

Finding a two-seater table by the window, Pete sat down and stretched his back out a bit, looking across the table at Tabbi who seemed rather happier now that food was on it's way.

"This is your first show in England right?" he asked, "You been here before at all?"

Tabbi screwed her face up and chuckled at what he ordered. These crazy Brits sure had some weird foods. She pulled out the only British money she had - which happened to be a £20 note - and slid it towards the clerk. Judging by the amount of change which came back, it had obviously been too much by quite a bit, but she'd had no opportunity to get a feel for English prices.

"I'll buy this if you let me try some of yours." she said, smiling at him and still shaking her head in bewilderment.

She followed him over the to table and sit down, angling her body away from the window slightly and crossing one aching leg over the other. The effects of jet-lag and exhaustion were still prominent, but the promising smell of food all around her lifted her spirits somewhat.

"Actually no." she said, "I never really expected to either - not that I've got anything against England, right? But my friends and family don't really do foreign holidays, and I've only just started playing shows outside of Illinois, so when my manager gave me to opportunity to come here it was a real surprise."

"Your manager, would that be that guy Lance back at the hall?" Pete queried, thinking back to the fraught looking man he'd seen talking to Rodger. The first clue obviously was that he'd been American, he'd had the appearance of being someone who had too much to deal with, but strangely Pete couldn't help but imagine he could see a vague family resemblance.

Tabbi rolled here eyes and nodded. "Yeah, Lance." she said gruffly, "He's my manager, agent, producer...and also my uncle. I kinda got one of those tight-knit-community every-knows-everybody-and-half-of-us-are-related kinda deals goin' on."

"Hmm, I can imagine that'd a two-sided coin." Pete nodded empathetically. All sorts of images about huge American families fighting over the TV and sitting down for opulent turkey dinners came to mind (something akin to National Lampoon's Christmas vacation), but he tried not to suppose that that's what it was like for Tabbi and her folks. "I'm not originally from around here, my wider family all live the other side of England in Essex. It's a healthy distance."

"Nice, so how far is that, like, can you drive it?"

"From here?" Pete grinned, seeing how she was struggling to concieve the entirely different scale of land-mass in England compared to the US. "It'd take about three and a half hours in good traffic."

"Holy shit," Tabbi exclaimed, a smirk forming on her lips, "wow...to drive across England? It takes three hours to drive across just Illinois. You guys are small."

"So have you ever been to the States?"

"Not really," Pete said, shaking his head, "I went on holiday to Toronto once, and it involved a transfer in...actually it was Chicago come to think of it!"

He played back what he'd just said and grimaced slightly at how it sounded. "Sorry....saying I stepped on America on my way to Canada...that's worse than saying I've never been at all right?"

Tabbi tilted her and a pretended to glower at him. "Well, I guess I can forgive you as long as this cornish pasty's good and you play well tonight."

She chuckled lightly and leaned forward a little, feeling herself ease up a bit. "So did you see much of Chitown while you were there?"

"Actually I never left the airport." Pete said, blushing slightly. "But for what it's worth I did hear some very nice jazz piped over the departure lounge."

She laughed and looked down. "Awesome. Gotta love that jazz."

As the cloud of irritability and tiredness started to lift, she came to her senses a little bit and realised she was having quite a good time already talking to Pete. If she'd gone out with Julian and Chrystal, it would have been raucous and stressful. Her brother was the eldest son of their father - the Alpha of the pack - and seemed to go wherever Tabbi went as her 'guardian'. Even though he didn't think twice of leaving her behind back at the Colston Hall...

As for Chrystal, she'd been a good friend to Tabbi for a long time, but whenever she was with Julian she just changed into a loud-laughed, obnoxious suck-up. Ribbing and teasing she expected from Julian, but when Chrystal chipped in on it, it got to her. After all, she never asked for her brother to babysit her wherever she went to do gigs.

She glanced at the window, suddenly wishing they'd sat further into the shop. If Julian walked past and saw her sitting with a stranger - a human no less - then he would probably get his hackles up and likely make a scene.