Eight Days of Ether: every day a new theme and only 24 hours to submit.

Day 8 – Song and Dance

Dark brown voices, buttons and bows. We’re in Jackson, me and Jude, for the show. I have a two-day beard and my feet hurt like hell. I sling them up on the table and lean back.

‘Fancy boots,’ Jude nods at them. ‘Ain’t made for walkin’ though.’ He snickers and I give him a look that should tell him I ain’t happy, but he misses it and snickers some more.

‘Hey – don’t push me,’ I growl at him, ‘I’m real close to the edge.’

‘Uh huh,’ he says, ‘Uh huh,’ and peers into his glass like a dog looking at an empty bowl. I call one of the girls over, ‘Jolene,’ I rasp, like I’m desert dry. But she musta got beans in her ears cos she doesn’t turn. I go again, ‘Jolene.’ Still nothing so I turn it up to eleven, ‘JOLENE!’ Jolene turns, sashays over.

‘Well if it ain’t the ol’ cowboy himself,’ she says, hands on her hips, elbows akimbo. ‘Fancy boots.’ She eyes my feet, up there on the table. ‘Them rhinestones or just bits of stuff you stuck on yourself?’ I ignore her, ‘Whiskey,’ I say, and drop my hat over my eyes.

‘Shot glass?’

I glance at Jude, still looking like an ol’ street-mutt, ‘Jar.’

‘Yeah,’ says Jude, ‘Hit me baby.’ Jolene oozes away, hips swaying like blue grass in a slow wind. ‘Could sure light her fire,’ says Jude, his bleary line of sight rising over his glass like a bad moon.

I crack a laugh, ‘You?’

‘Yeah me,’ he says. Jude makes a stab at standing up to give me the full eyeball treatment, but he gets caught up on a table leg and goes down in a tangle of chairs.

‘Haha!’ There’s a bellow from the bar; it’s Fat Boy, only he ain’t fat no more. ‘Weren’t expecting clowns – who sent for them?’ He leans back, looks at Jude straggled over the floor.

‘Hey, honey,’ he calls to Baby, an itsybitsy thing in a pink dress keeping out the way in the corner, ‘Bet even you can pick up this little weed, he sure ain’t heavy.’ He laughs again, turns back to his drink.

Well, I’m a coupla shots down, full of dust and sweat an’ I don’t take kindly to folk ragging my brother. I get up slowly, push my hat back just a tad, and pull up into an easy stand. ‘You,’ I say, like there’s only the two of us, ‘You got a death wish?’ There’s a chuckle from the big guy. ‘Nope’ he says, ‘You?’ He turns; we square up.

‘Girls, girls, girls!’ It’s Beau, he’s carrying feathers, big shoes, and jewellery that jangles. ‘An hour to curtain up and you’re out here having a spat?’ He looks at me, ‘You’re not even clean!’ Beau’s nose wrinkles, ‘Dressing room now, please.’ He throws a bunch of stuff at me and Jude, then he throws a scowl at Fat Boy, ‘Priscilla – frock up or frock off, it’s Showtime.’

There’s a cheat sheet for this one; the link is below.

This is my list, there may be more! Dark brown voices buttons and bows cheat-sheet